United by Harambe: A Voldemort x Umbridge Story
by satiriouscat
Summary: Suave, handsome, exquisite... a beautiful mystery. Words which Delores Umbridge often used to describe Tom Riddle, the hottest boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But she would soon discover something truly moving about her love, something more interesting than the perfect arch of his brows: his immovable faith in Harambe.
1. Longing in the Library

**A/N:** This chapter has been rewritten as of 25/08/2019.

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 **Chapter 1:** _Longing in the Library_

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The Hogwarts library hummed with the quiet murmurs and scratching quills of students. Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike were absorbed in ancient tomes and textbooks, studying for tomorrow's midterm OWL examinations. A lively, sleep-deprived gaggle of Gryffindors laughed as they read aloud from an outdated Herbology textbook, taking turns concocting funny - and often inappropriate - methods of remembering the names of magical fauna. A young couple, bored of studying, were engaged in a violent game of tonsil tennis in a dark corner of the library. A solitary Slytherin girl sat at an empty table, swinging her legs and pursing her lips in concentration. A pile of parchment and a large Potions textbook sat before her.

 _Delores J. Umbridge,_ she had written in the top, leftmost corner of the parchment. _Potions Notes._ The title was underlined with an elaborate swirl. Despite its label, the parchment bore less notes than doodles. Drawings of flowers, hearts, and cats covered every square inch of the page.

A pink-feathered quill sat poised in her hand, but Delores wasn't using it to write, rather to carefully follow each sentence as she reread her notes.

"Felix Felicis," Delores read, lips moving imperceptibly as she committed the words to memory. "Liquid luck. A most difficult potion to brew."

 _I could use some liquid luck right about now,_ she thought gloomily, reaching up with her free hand to rub her tired eyes. She could hardly hear herself think over the joking, raucous Gryffindors several tables away. She spared a withering glare towards the rowdy group. _It's the only way I'm gonna pass this Potions OWL tomorrow._

She couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as she watched the Gryffindors interact. Even though they didn't look like they were getting much studying done, they were certainly having a good time.

Delores wished, not for the first time, that she had someone to study with who _wasn't_ her useless cat. She looked away from her fellow students to watch Mr. Cuddlesworth, deep in slumber, with his white tail curled over his nose.

"You're useless," she murmured fondly as she reached forward to stroke Mr. Cuddlesworth's head with the soft, feathered tip of her quill. He shifted in his sleep, but showed no signs of waking. Delores considered Mr. Cuddlesworth to be her best friend. He had always been there for her, through thick and thin. Whenever she cried, which was often, he licked her tears and let her touch his toe beans. He allowed her to bury her face in his fur when she was frustrated, and tie pink ribbons around his neck when she was sad. Besides for her roommate, Ebony, Mr. Cuddlesworth was Delores's only friend.

"So much for helping me study," she grumbled, more loudly than she had intended. Two Gryffindors glanced critically in Delores's direction, setting her face ablaze with embarrassment. She turned her head and hid behind her brown hair until she no longer felt their stares boring into her.

Delores was used to being the social outcast, the weird girl who talked to her cat and still loved the colour pink at seventeen years old, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to be ostracised and judged for what she liked. She wasn't clever enough to spend time with the nerdy students, nor was she fashionable enough to join in the popular girls' fun. She wasn't a Pureblood, a class clown, or an artist. Delores didn't belong anywhere, not even with the other social caterpillars at Hogwarts. Her roommate, Ebony, was her only human friend, and she wasn't even a human. She was a vampire. Her supernatural race enabled her to understand Delores's plight of feeling different.

Feeling different, Delores had decided long ago, _sucked_. Seven years at Hogwarts, and she hadn't yet found a place she belonged. She was hopeless at making friends, she was hopeless at socialising, and she was hopeless at studying. She was hopeless at everything.

Everything except being hopeless, she supposed. Delores smiled reproachfully, bashfully returning to her work. She read silently this time, so as not to attract further attention from the Gryffindors.

 _Polyjuice Potion. A complex and time-consuming concoction. Enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they have first procured part of that individual's body to add to the brew, eg. hair, dandruff, etc._

Delores's mind was already drifting. Her index finger idly traced a large heart she had drawn in the top right corner of her notes. The heart had two initials set inside of it, a D and a T. She blushed fiercely, following the lines of the letters within the heart. The 'D' stood for Delores, of course, and the 'T' stood for Tom, her crush.

Tom Riddle was the most popular, smart, and attractive boy at Hogwarts. The Slytherin prefect was tall, dark-haired, and achingly handsome. A small cohort of fellow Slytherin boys followed him around wherever he went, protecting Tom from the large group of infatuated girls who constantly flocked and badgered him. Tom was everything Delores was not, and yet she wanted him. She yearned for his love and affection with a ferocity which scared her, but he would never fall for a girl like her, with drab robes, a chubby face, and plain brown hair and eyes. She was nothing like the slender beauties vying for Tom's attention and hanging off his arms.

And yet, Delores felt a degree of satisfaction, it was _she_ , plain, crazy, pink-obsessed Delores Umbridge, who had been chosen as Tom's Potions partner that fateful Autumn day. It was mid-November, and the class had been dedicated to completing the Polyjuice Potions they had begun brewing a month prior. Her previous lab partner, Patricia Parkinson, had been ill with the flu. Delores had looked frantically about the dank dungeon, searching for anyone without a partner. That's when the Slytherin posterchild himself, Tom Riddle, approached her, his perfect, luscious lips spread in a dazzling smile.

"My partner isn't here today," Tom said, and Delores's cheeks burned. "Let's work together."

Her tongue felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, and she could only squeak in reply. "O-okay!"

He towered over her, six feet tall and stunning, like a gallant prince from a fairy tale. His voice turned her bones to jelly, and his smile set her heart a'stutter. As they brewed, side by side, Delores could feel the angry, jealous stares of her female classmates piercing the back of her skull.

Delores held their shared textbook aloft for Tom to see. He scanned the brewing steps, and if he noticed the textbook shaking due to Delores's trembling hands, he didn't say anything about it. "The final step is to add the hair, or whatever."

Delores watched in shock as he plucked a hair from his head. "You can put it in," he said casually, gesturing for her to take the hair.

Delores scrambled to set down the Potions textbook. She held out her hand, and Tom placed the dark strand of hair in the centre of her palm. She felt a jolt of lightning race through her as his fingers brushed her skin. In the back of her mind, she wondered faintly if he could feel the sweat gathered on the surface of her skin.

"Th-thanks," she stuttered. Tom turned away, and Delores dared to look at the hair she held - Tom's hair.

Her heart rose into her throat, choking her. Her feet were rooted to the ground. There were two hairs in the centre of her palm, side by side. Two hairs. Two of _Tom's_ hairs. Delores quickly glanced up at Tom, who was busy closing ingredient jars and tidying their station.

Delores held her breath as she carefully picked up one of Tom's hairs and stuffed it into her robe pocket. Just as she was removing her hand from her pocket, Tom turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. "Go ahead. You can put it in, now."

Delores didn't trust herself to speak. _He didn't see,_ she thought as she picked up the leftover hair and dropped it into the nearly-completed potion. _Oh my gosh. I can't believe I just did that. That was so stupid. So, so stupid. Why did I even do that?!_ Her mind raced through potential scenarios - her teacher finding out, and failing her. Her classmates finding out, and never letting her hear the end of it. Tom finding out, and being disgusted with her.

But nothing happened. Her teacher passed their station and afforded Tom and Delores a pleased nod towards their completed potion. Her classmates continued to brew their own potions, oblivious to Delores's act of obsessive thievery. Tom smiled widely at her and raised a hand. Delores blinked. He was waiting for her to high-five him. Delores hurried to oblige him. "Nice work," he said, and Delores felt herself melting in between the stones of the dungeon floor, a blissful, oozing mess. Tom Riddle _high-fived_ her.

"Let's work together again sometime," said Tom. He knew her name! And not only that, he wanted to work with her again. Delores had spent the rest of that day walking on cloud nine, barely able to conceal the skip in her step. Not even her emo roommate, Ebony, could bring her back down to earth.

A loud giggle from the Canoodling Corner startled Delores out of her reverie. She sighed, willing the information to leap into her head. She was useless at remembering things that actually mattered. If she could remember her encounter with Tom so vividly, why couldn't she remember even the tiniest bit of information about Potions? Thoroughly frustrated, Delores rolled up her parchment and slammed her Potions textbook shut. She allowed herself to slouch, sinking low into her seat and letting loose a loud sigh. Mr. Cuddlesworth opened one eye a sliver.

"Sorry for waking you up," she muttered apologetically, watching Mr. Cuddlesworth reposition his furry body and close his eyes once more. She looked away from her cat, taking in the library. The Gryffindors were packing up their quills and parchment, leaving the textbooks askew on the table for the House Elves to clean up. After they left the room, Delores pushed back her chair and walked towards the abandoned table. She picked up the forgotten books and shelved them one by one, rationalising her procrastination by assuring herself that she was doing the House Elves a favour.

Eventually, the couple in the corner of the library ceased making out. They too left the library, leaving Delores alone with her cat and her thoughts. She reached inside her robe pocket and withdrew Tom's hair, stark against her pale skin. She carried it in her pocket every day. It gave her hope. Delores returned to her table to admire Tom's hair in the light of her stubby candle. She fought the urge to bring it up to her nose and sniff it, to see if it smelled like Tom's shampoo or cologne. She wanted to know what he smelled like more than anything. She envisioned herself sitting with him in the library, cuddled close together on a sofa with his head resting on her shoulder. Her fingers gently carded through his hair, revelling in its softness, its thickness, and its sweet scent.

Delores sighed, shoving the hair back inside her pocket. After returning the Potions textbook to its proper shelf, she gathered up her cat and writing supplies and returned to her dorm room. Inside, it was dark as the grave.

Delores fished her wand out of her pocket. "Lumos," she breathed. A small light burst into existence at the tip of her wand, shining just brightly enough for her to see where she was going in the dark room.

Tiptoeing so as not to wake her roommate and utilising her wand for navigation, she approached her bed and knelt beside it. She reached for a small wooden box, painted a bright pink colour. The box held her jewellery: a pair of pink pearl earrings and a necklace. Delores placed Tom's hair on the pink cushion inside of the box, as precious a treasure as any diamond. She closed the box tight and changed into her favourite pink pyjamas, climbing into bed. Mr. Cuddlesworth settled on her stomach, purring like a small, furry motor. Sleep took her, and her dreams were filled with Tom Riddle and the love she so desperately wished for.


	2. Love is Brewing

**A/N:** This chapter has been rewritten as of 26/08/2019.

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 **Chapter 2:** _Love is Brewing_

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Delores yanked on her pink plastic hairbrush, wrenching it free of a nasty tangle. Her scalp throbbed.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath. Giving up on untangling her hair, she applied a generous helping of hairspray and hoped for the best. Delores scowled at her own reflection in the standing mirror she shared with her roommate, Ebony. Her uniform was wrinkled. Tugging on the tails of her shirt in a feeble attempt to smooth them out, she grimly noted the dark bags under her eyes from studying so late at night.

 _Whatever. It's not like anyone is going to be looking at me so closely,_ she thought as she forced her feet inside her shoes. Her toes pinched painfully. Her sensible Mary Janes had once belonged to her older sister, Dorothy, whose feet were a size and a half smaller than Delores. Delores didn't need good grades in Divination to see blisters in her future.

The creaking of wood marked the raising of her roommate's coffin lid. Delores watched as Ebony sat up, stretching her arms languidly. Her silky black and red-streaked hair was tied back in a messy bun. Her pale skin glittered like freshly fallen snow in the light of the sun filtering through the curtains of their dorm window.

"Close the curtains!" Ebony hissed, shielding her sensitive vampire eyes from the sun's glare.

Delores hurried to close the curtains further. "Sorry."

"Fangz, bich." Ebony possessed a strange manner of speaking. Instead of saying 'thanks', she said 'fangz'. Delores appreciated a good pun, but she secretly thought Ebony was taking the vampire thing a tad bit too far. Saying 'fangz' and wearing gothic clothing were one thing, but sleeping in a coffin was an entirely different story.

Ebony stepped out of her coffin, wearing an oversized t-shirt. It read 'My Chemical Romance'. Delores knew it was a Muggle band, but she had only ever heard their music when Ebony hummed or sang, as she did now. The vampire hummed a haunting tune and head-banged as she brushed her long, waist-length hair. After her red streaks were arranged to her satisfaction, Ebony rifled through her dresser.

Already dressed, Delores gathered up her writing supplies. Her favourite pink quill tucked safely away, she stuffed her pile of parchment inside her backpack.

"Have you seen my robe?" Delores asked, looking around the messy dorm room for the final component of her uniform.

"It's on your bed. Your cat is sleeping on it," Ebony said with a wry smile. She extracted a number of black clothing items from her dresser and placed them on the lid of her coffin.

"Mr. Cuddlesworth!" Delores exclaimed. He raised his head, blinking sleepily at her. She lifted him off her crumpled robe and groaned. "There's cat hair all over it!"

"That's what you get when you have a white cat," said Ebony with an uncaring shrug, zipping up her thigh-high black heeled boots as Delores shook out her robe. White cat hairs floated in the air like dandelion fluff. "You should get a black one. It's more gothic, that way. Maybe you can learn a spell to turn his fur black."

"Mr. Cuddlesworth is fine the way he is." Delores didn't understand why the administration didn't penalize Ebony for wearing clothing that didn't even remotely meet the uniform requirements. She wore a black fishnet shirt, a black leather miniskirt, and was busy fastening the busk of a crimson corset. She stood in front of the mirror and laced the back of the corset with skilled precision. As Ebony admired herself in the mirror, Delores admired her friend.

"Can you even breathe with that thing on?" Delores asked, already knowing Ebony's answer.

"I don't breathe. I'm a vampire." Ebony's tone was incredulous. "I've told you a million times."

"Right." Delores shouldered her pink backpack and walked towards the door. Her fingers barely brushed the burnished metal doorknob when Ebony cried out, prompting Delores to turn around.

"Where do you think you're going without me?!" She demanded.

"To my OWL," Delores explained. "I want to get there early so I can get a good seat."

"Well, _I_ want you to wait for me. That's what friends do."

Delores bit her lip. "Fine."

As Ebony applied her makeup in the mirror with her back to her roommate, Delores sat on her unmade bed. Her leg bounced rhythmically as she waited for her roommate to finish preening. Knowing Ebony, she would be a while. Delores patted her pocket, as if to reassure herself that Tom's hair was still safely inside. It was her good luck charm.

Her stomach tied itself in intricate knots that only tightened as the time of the exam approached. Delores checked her watch. "We should probably go soon."

"Don't be such a worrywart. We'll be fine." Ebony smacked her lips, distributing her red lipstick. "Have you thought about the Winter Ball yet, or is school all you _ever_ think about?"

"I think about lots of things besides school," Delores said defensively, watching as Ebony applied a shocking amount of black eye shadow.

"Like cats?" Ebony asked pointedly.

Delores's cheeks burned like twin suns.

Ebony laughed, spying her embarrassment in the mirror. "And _boys?_ "

"I don't think about boys."

"Sure you don't." Her roommate let loose a virulent snort. "When are you going to ask him out? You know you want to. The Winter Ball is the perfect time to do it."

Delores cried out in exasperation. "I'm not asking anybody out!" An unseen fist gripped her heart. Did Ebony know about her crush on Tom?

"Listen, bich," Ebony began. "This is your final year at Hogwarts. You need to find yourself a date. The Ball is fun! You get to eat, dance, and talk. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity to show off to your classmates and have a good time."

"I'm not going, Ebony."

"Not even with Tom?" The anxious snake in Delores's gut tightened its hold. How did she find out?

Delores fidgeted uncomfortably. "How did you know?" She mumbled.

"I'm not an idiot. I've seen how you look at him, like he puts the stars in the sky. He's cute, not gonna lie." Ebony hummed as she deliberated between two different mascara tubes. "You should ask him to the Ball."

Delores nearly choked. "B-but Tom is _way_ out of my league!"

"You're not wrong," said Ebony. "But if you don't ask him now, this may be your last chance. You're both graduating this year, remember?"

The world stood still as the cogs in Delores's brain began to turn. Ebony was right. Graduation was imminent, and if she didn't ask Tom to the dance soon, she'd never again find the chance.

"You'd better hurry, too. I overheard some stupid Hufflepreps talking about asking him to the dance. Can you imagine? A Huffleprep and a Slytherin dating?" Ebony let loose a peal of cruel laughter. "I stuck up my middle finger at them."

Delores smiled weakly as her resolve wavered like a flame in the wind. "Nice."

"I wanted to drink their blood, but I thought that would be too rude." Ebony zipped her makeup bag shut and twirled for Delores.

"You look great," she said. They had to leave. Now. "We should probably go."

Ebony sighed, as if Delores was the one acting unreasonable. "Fine."

Delores and her roommate hurried out of the Slytherin dorms and into the dungeon, where her Potions exam was being held. As they walked, Ebony suggested different methods of securing her ideal date.

"You can send him an anonymous owl message after exams," she said. "You can use my owl, if you want. Ask him to meet you somewhere private."

"I don't know." Delores felt queasy. "Ebony, I don't even know if he knows who I am. We worked together in Potions that one time, but…"

"Stop doing that," Ebony said firmly, gripping Delores's shoulder. Her heels clacked loudly on the cobbled floor in time with Delores's unrelenting heartbeat. "We can talk more about this later. I've got my Herbology OWL now."

The hall ahead of them was full of students filing in for the Potions OWL. Delores joined the line of students and gave Ebony a weak smile.

Ebony bared her vampire teeth. "Good luck, bich."

"Thanks, you too."

As Ebony sauntered away, Delores took a deep breath and followed her fellow Potions students inside the classroom. There were few empty seats left, and most of them were in the back of the room. Delores sat down with a heavy sigh and emptied her backpack, arranging her parchment and quill to her satisfaction. She spared a glance towards the front of the room. Her teacher was holding a pile of exam papers. She spotted Tom's dark head of hair in the second row. Her stomach leaped, and the hair in her pocket burned like a firebrand, searing through her robes and into her skin.

The Potions OWL passed in a flurry of parchment and scribbled ink. Although she had spent much of her studying session daydreaming, what little material she had ingested paid off. She knew she aced the section dedicated to the Polyjuice potion. After her encounter with Tom, she wondered if she'd ever forget _anything_ about the potion. It was intrinsically tied to Tom, now.

As Delores gathered up her school supplies and stoppered her ink jar, she felt a hint of satisfaction which warred with the anxious ache in her stomach. She was famished.

Lunch had been laid out in the Great Hall. Students filed into the Hall, finished their first OWLs of the day. Delores helped herself to a bowl of cereal with strawberry milk, and considered scarfing down a pink doughnut that was practically calling her name. That's when Ebony sat down next to her, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"How was it?" Ebony asked. A bowl of Count Chocula cereal and a cup of what looked suspiciously like blood popped into existence before her.

"It was okay," Delores admitted. "I think I did okay on one section. The rest of it, I'm not so sure."

"That's good," Ebony replied, sounding disinterested. She lowered her voice. "Bich, have you thought about what I said?"

Delores had done more than just think - she worried, she racked her brains, she fretted! She couldn't _stop_ thinking about Tom and the Winter Ball. She swallowed thickly, looking down at her bowl of cereal. She wasn't quite so hungry anymore. "I have. But I don't know if it'll work."

"Bich, you'll never know if you don't at least try." Ebony sipped her blood. "I can help you write the letter after our exams are over."

"Thanks," Delores said, absently pushing around the bits of cereal in her bowl with her spoon. Her head was a tornado as doubt continued to eat away at her like moths feasting on an old robe.

"Great!" Ebony laughed, clapping Delores on the back. She nearly choked up her cereal. "Oh bich, this is going to be so much fun!"

 _For me, or for you?_ Delores wondered.


	3. A Proposal in Pink

A/N: This chapter has been rewritten as of 09/09/2019.

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 **Chapter 3:** _A Proposal in Pink_

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Delores dreamed of the forest, green and lush with the promise of an eternal Springtime fantasy. Her hands and clothes collected pearls of fresh dew as she parted large leaf fronds of emerald and vermillion. A canopy of delicate, glittering spiderwebs swathed the branches above Delores's head, shielding her from the sun's glare as she walked through the forest, as if drawn by an invisible force towards an unknown, fixed point.

 _This isn't the Forbidden Forest,_ Delores thought, bewildered.

Her Care of Magical Creatures professor, Fargrid, often brought his students to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to show off large-scale magical beasts in a location with an abundance of space. Although Professor Fargrid never brought his students into the Forest itself, Delores invariably sensed its dark presence, stealing her breath and weighing her down with a heavy, suffocating blanket of unease. The very trees were wraiths wreathed in a perpetual mist, towering like ghostly sentinels, judging her and condemning her to an afterlife of misery and eternal wandering in the Forbidden Forest.

This forest, however, was different. It was warm, peaceful, and inviting, rich with the pleasant scents of flowers, fresh rain, and newly-watered earth. Sunlight kissed her skin as a clearing opened up before her. In the centre of the clearing, a magnificent banana tree towered ten feet tall. The bananas were ripe and yellow. Their vibrant hue beckoned to Delores like a siren's song. Approaching the tree, Delores hesitated. Was she allowed to just… take one?

 _This place,_ she thought, turning slowly and taking in the beauty of her surroundings. _It seems sacred._

A warm breeze rustled the leaves, stirring her hair to tickle her cheeks and whispering encouragement. _**Take, my daughter,**_ the enchanted forest seemed to say. The voice of the forest was a cool balm soothing every wound and worry; the strong, warm arms of a mighty gorilla, cradling her like a child, keeping her safe. _**Eat. Be merry. All that is mine is yours. Don't be shy.**_

Emboldened by the voice, Delores stood on her tiptoes, straining to reach one of the lowest-hanging bananas. Her fingers barely brushed its rubbery surface. Growing impatient, Delores bent her knees and jumped. A surge of triumph rushed through her as she heard the satisfying crack of the banana stem detaching from its bundle. Her feet reunited with the earth, and a shriek ripped the air to ribbons as the forest collapsed around her, taking Delores with it.

"Hoo-hoo!"

Delores woke with a strangled gasp as Ebony's screeching owl swooped in the open window. Her heart thundered in her chest until her alarm subsided, the novelty of her rude awakening wearing off.

"Good boy, Vampire," she heard Ebony say. Delores groaned, turning over in bed to face her roommate, grimacing pointedly. "You've got mail!" Ebony sang.

"From who?" Delores asked groggily, looking down at her clothing. She wrinkled her nose in disgust: she was still wearing her sweaty school uniform. Her final OWL had taken place earlier that afternoon, and she had stayed up the entire night prior, intent on studying. As soon as she completed the exam, she had taken a well-earned nap, too tired to change into her pyjamas.

"From Tom, of course."

Delores's eyes locked onto Ebony as she removed a crisp white envelope from Vampire's claws and leaned forward, holding it out for Delores to take. Her sleepy brain mulled over her roommate's words, gears grinding at a snail's pace as she stared at the proffered envelope. "But… I didn't even send him a letter. Why would he…"

Ebony's wry smile told Delores everything she needed to know. "You wrote him a letter, didn't you!" Delores accused, snatching the letter from Ebony's outstretched hand. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I knew you'd never do it on your own." Ebony inspected her nails. "It's really not such a big deal, Delores. I sent it anonymously, of course. While you were napping, I used your stationery. Speaking of which, you need to buy Gothic stationery. My only options were light pink, medium pink, and dark pink." The self-proclaimed vampire screwed up her face in distaste. "Hardly appropriate for a secret love letter."

"It's called magenta," Delores snarled, turning her back on Ebony to face the wall. "And it's appropriate for any scenario!" Her anger at her roommate for violating her privacy subsided as she turned the envelope over in her hands. She wiped her suddenly sweaty hands on her blanket. Her skin prickled, jolts of lightning arcing across her skin as her fingertips gently brushed the paper, marvelling at the grain. In that moment, everything else faded into the background: Hogwarts, Ebony, and even Mr. Cuddlesworth. Delores was only faintly aware of her own body, save her hands, grounded by Tom's letter.

 _To my secret admirer._ Tom's handwriting was beautiful, just like its owner. His s's were shaped like snakes, complete with tiny, forked tongues.

Turning the envelope over, Delores noted Tom's unique wax seal. It was dark green, dusted with gold powder, and embossed with his initials: TMR. A stylized snake with its tail in its mouth encircled the three letters.

Delores faintly wondered how much money she could sell his wax seal for - she knew there was a Tom Riddle fan club at Hogwarts. Somehow, selling his seal felt too cruel, too degrading. No: she would save it, just as she had saved Tom's hair.

The suspense at what lay inside the envelope was intoxicating. Tracing his initials with trembling fingers, she hesitated. _What are you waiting for? Why prolong the inevitable?_

She gulped, fingers poised to peel back Tom's seal. _Maybe I'm waiting because I'm afraid, and the not knowing is easier than the knowing. They say that ignorance is bliss. Maybe they're right._

 _But maybe they're wrong,_ prompted a small voice in the back of her head. It was the voice of hope, and Delores decided to listen.

Delores took a deep breath and unsealed the envelope, ignoring the uncomfortable tingling in her spine from being watched by Ebony. She tugged the letter out of the envelope. Her hands shook so violently that she could barely read Tom's handwriting. It danced before her eyes in a dizzying display of anxious theatre. Steeling her nerves, she held the letter steady using two hands.

 _Dearest admirer,_ she read, _I will gladly meet with you to discuss the winter ball. It would be my pleasure to officially make the acquaintance of the individual with such a unique and sophisticated taste in stationery. Meet me at midnight by the Whomping Willow sapling. Best wishes, Tom Marvalo Riddle. ;)_

Delores couldn't believe what she was reading. She rubbed her tired eyes and reread Tom's letter, as if that would change its contents. It didn't. She wondered detachedly at the wetness she felt on her cheeks, and realized that she was crying. Mr. Cuddlesworth worriedly lapped away her tears.

"It's okay, Mr. Cuddlesworth," she whispered. Despite her tears, Delores found herself smiling. She held Tom's letter close, pressing it against her chest, over her heart.

"So? What did he say?!" Ebony demanded.

Delores's stomach erupted into a swarm of nervous butterflies as laughter spilled forth from her throat. Suddenly, she was crying and laughing all at once, waves of mirth racking her body. Her ribs ached with the effort of expelling the overwhelming laughter bubbling up inside.

"He said yes!" She cried amid giggles, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. "Thank you, Ebony! Thank you, thank you! I can't believe it!"

Ebony cheered and Delores laughed until her stomach cramped and every breath came out a wheeze. Her soul danced in the sky with an entity she knew not the name of, and for the first time in seven years, Delores Jane Umbridge felt truly happy.

Once Delores's fit of laughter had passed, she glanced at her pink leather watch, scuffed and worn from use. The face of the watch was fashioned into the shape of a cat's head, with the hands making up the cat's whiskers. It was eight o'clock pm. Four hours remained until her midnight meeting with Tom Riddle.

Delores had few talents, and waiting was not one of them. She spent nearly an hour crying in the bathtub, scrubbing her skin until it was red and stinging. It took another hour for her to get dressed. Ebony tried to offer questionable fashion advice until she grew bored and left Delores to her frantic devices. Once dressed, Delores tried to lose herself in her favourite romance novel, Tusk Love, to kill time. As she read, her mind wandered. She pictured herself as the protagonist, the daughter of a travelling merchant named Guinevere, caught in a whirlwind romance with Tom, who had taken on the role of Oskar, the book's love interest. Eventually, she had to put the book away. It wasn't _distracting_ her from her imminent meeting with her crush - it was _exacerbating_ it.

As midnight drew ever nearer, Delores's anxiety peaked. She waited until Ebony's muffled snores could be heard from within her closed coffin before quietly taking her leave. Kissing Mr. Cuddlesworth's furry head, she slipped out of her dorm room and into the Slytherin common room. It was cold and empty.

Delores pulled her robe tighter around herself as she made her way upstairs. Her hurried footsteps and laboured breathing echoed in the empty stairwell, creating the illusion of many invisible pursuers on her tail, spurring her forward with reckless abandon. She kept a quick pace, fearful of running into a ghostly hall monitor - or Tom.

Delores thought wistfully of her warm, cozy bed and her fluffy feline companion. _Why couldn't we have met at a normal time?_

Delores hurried past the doors to the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall. As she pushed one of the hulking wooden doors open with a dull, resounding creak, she wondered at how easy it had been to sneak out of school. She was just one student, not a particularly conniving student, either, and yet she had easily managed to escape.

Delores slipped through the open door. Frosty daggers blasted her face and cut through the fabric of her robes, turning her skin to ice. It was typical mid-December weather, and paired with the late hour, the night was cold and unforgiving.

 _I should've brought a scarf and gloves,_ thought Delores. _Maybe meeting him outside was a bad idea._ She crossed her arms and shoved her hands into her armpits for warmth. A thin layer of snow crunched underfoot as she walked briskly across the school grounds.

The full moon hung in the black velvet sky, a disc of cruel luminosity commanding the northern winds to leach the warmth from her body and crown her with misery. Delores's shoes broke the surface of the hard, shallow snow. Her shoes and socks soon became soaking wet, and her toes quickly grew numb from the cold.

Delores shivered, squinting against the bitter wind, spying the short silhouette of a young tree ten feet away from the shoreline of the Black Lake: the Whomping Willow sapling, known fondly among the students as the Slapping Sapling. It wasn't tall enough to do anyone major damage, but it certainly had a temper.

Upon seeing the tree, Delores quickened her pace, willing life back into her frozen limbs, and wishing she had worn pants underneath her skirt: the skin of her inner thighs was cold-chapped and rubbed painfully with every step she took.

Feather-soft snowflakes drifted downwards, settling on every available surface: the grass, the lake, Delores's hair and face. Her cloak became a vestige littered with nonsensical constellations of fallen snow.

She halted five feet from the sapling (a safe distance, Professor Fargrid had taught) and looked at her surroundings. She stood in the grass between the sapling and the Lake, accumulating snow.

Delores checked her watch: eleven fifty eight.A heavy breath escaped her lungs. She walked aimlessly to warm her cold legs. With nothing to see but the barren landscape and nothing to hear but the howling of the winter wind, Delores approached curiously the Lake. Leaning over the water, she inspected her reflection. A layer of frost gathered on the edge of the water. The wind distorted her reflection, stretching and shrinking her face. Delores shivered again, teeth chattering.

 _Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

Footsteps. Footsteps in the snow, growing louder, drawing closer. Delores's heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe? Her chest felt tight. Every sharp, cold inhale stabbed her lungs like knives.

What was she _doing?_

Her legs were frozen stumps of wood, dull and unresponsive. She forced herself to take a step back in order to turn around to see whatever - whoever - was behind her. The ground fell away beneath her feet as she slipped on a hidden patch of ice, and with a gasp, giving way to a piercing scream, Delores tumbled backwards into the icy waters of the Lake.


	4. Fire and Ice

**A/N:** This chapter has been rewritten as of 22/09/2019.

* * *

 **Chapter Four:** _Fire and Ice_

* * *

The water was dark. Delores's lungs constricted, crushed by an unrelenting, frozen fist. She inhaled involuntarily, choking on frigid lake water as it flooded her mouth and throat, so cold it burned like liquid flame.

Thrashing her numb limbs, she struggled to swim to the surface. The bitter cold penetrated her skin, settling deep in her bones and pinning her muscles in place. The desperate movements of her arms and legs brought her no nearer to safety.

Delores was drowning, sinking into darkness.

As blackness began to crowd the edges of her vision, her dulled nerves registered a firm grip on her right forearm. Water surged around her as she was forcibly dragged from the lake's icy clutch.

Cold air was no better than cold water. The winter wind assaulted her soaked skin as she allowed herself to be hauled away from the slippery shoreline.

Still reeling, Delores collapsed in a shivering heap, coughing up lake water and several tiny fish. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing, a function she had once taken for granted. Now, every inhale and exhale was painful and forced, a scratched record in a broken player, stuttering and skipping over the most satisfying portions of a song.

"Oh my Harambe!" cried a familiar voice. "Are you okay?"

Hands were on her shoulders, warm breath on her face. Delores opened her eyes and found herself drowning again - this time, in the blue-green depths of Tom Riddle's eyes. They were bright with worry as they took in her chattering teeth and drenched robes.

Delores could do nothing but nod in response to his question. She blinked up at him stupidly, too cold and stunned by his gorgeousness to think clearly. He was so beautiful in the moonlight; her guardian angel.

"Let's get you inside," said Tom. Wasting no time, he scooped Delores up in his strong arms and carried her back to the castle. His broad shoulders shielded her from the onslaught of the wind.

Darkness came and went in waves, falling like a curtain before her eyes. Before Delores knew it, she was gently deposited at the foot of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room.

Tom kneeled before the cold fireplace and pointed his wand at the pile of logs within. "Incendio," he commanded. The logs burst into flame, hungering for wood and flesh.

Delores inched closer, extending her hands towards the fire. "Th-thanks," she stuttered. Her fingers tingled as warmth began to flood back into them.

"Don't thank me yet," Tom said, turning his wand towards Delores. It was longer than hers, and crafted from pale wood. "Siccio!"

Tom's hot-air charm worked - well, like a _charm_. Delores's drenched robes began to steam as they dried. She pushed her hair back from her face and cringed at its frizzy texture.

 _What a mess I must look,_ she thought. _So much for dressing to impress._ All of her preparation and panic amounted to nothing. Every ounce of her self-confidence had sunk to the murky bottom of the lake, along with her dignity.

Tom draped a green wool blanket over her shoulders. "How are you feeling?" he asked. His tone was firm and commanding as his beautiful eyes searched her face. His proximity made her dizzy, or maybe it was simply the heat rushing back into her limbS. "You're all red. Do I need to call Monsieur Domfrey?"

"No!" Delores said quickly. "That's not necessary. I'm already feeling a lot better, thank you."

She started in surprise as Tom kicked his shoes into the corner, revealing snake-patterned socks, and sat down on the carpet beside her. He stretched out his long legs towards the fire. "That was dangerous, going outside in the cold so late at night. You could have died."

Delores concentrated on studying the carpet fibres so she didn't have to meet Tom's searching gaze. "I know," she croaked. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She furiously wiped them away with her sleeve. "I'm sorry."

Tom laughed then, an exhilarating sound that reverberated around the empty common room and prompted Delores's heart to perform a series of complicated back flips. "Why are _you_ apologising to _me?_ You're the one that fell in the lake!"

"And _I'm_ the idiot who arranged to meet you outside in the dead of winter!" Delores retorted, the confession escaping from her lips like a barrage of marbles spilling out of a poorly-tied drawstring bag.

Delores looked up from the carpet to see Tom smiling and watching her with a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.

Her cheeks flushed. "Oh yes, it was me," she continued boldly. The floodgates were open. "You can make fun of me all you want. I don't care anymore."

"Why would I make fun of you?"

"Because… because…" Delores struggled to find the words. "Because you're Tom Riddle, and I'm, well, me."

"And what's wrong with being Delores Umbridge?" he asked, leaning back on his palms. His mouth was set in a grim line, retaining no trace of his earlier amusement.

Delores floundered, her face growing hotter by the second. "Lots of things. For one, I talk to my cat."

"Cats are clever creatures." Tom shrugged. "And I talk to my pet snake. No big deal."

She gave him a dubious look. "And I'm not a pureblood."

"Neither am I."

Delores's brows rose in surprise. She had always assumed Tom was a pureblood. "Well," she continued, "I'm... I'm a loser. I have no friends, and I'm a plain, ugly coward."

She held her breath as Tom leaned forward. "Now, that's not true. I think you're very brave." His succulent baritone made her blood run hot. Her heart melted, leaking in between her ribs as he reached out and took her hand. This was so much better than touching his detached hair.

"I remember you being a fantastic Potions partner," he continued, running his thumb over her knuckles. "And I think you're beautiful, inside and out."

Delores didn't _feel_ especially beautiful. Her hair was frizzy and her clothes, though dry, smelled of rancid lake water. Meanwhile, the fire danced in the periphery of her vision, casting delicious shadows on Tom's face and emphasizing his handsome features.

"Delores," he whispered, leaning in close. This close, she could clearly see the flecks of pale green in his irises. "In truth, I haven't stopped thinking about you since that day we worked together. It was the most fun I've ever had in Potions."

"R-really?" Delores asked, hardly trusting herself to speak in light of his shocking revelation.

"Really. I _hate_ Potions. I usually find it boring; but not that day, not with you," he admitted with a secretive smirk. "I think it's because you aren't like the other girls in our class. You have something they don't."

"And what is that?" she asked breathlessly, half-dreading his answer.

"Substance," Tom replied. "You have substance."

Delores knew what Tom meant when he said that many of the girls in their class lacked substance. They concealed their true nature beneath masks of makeup and facades of fashion. They believed that in order to find themselves, they must become someone else. Delores wasn't quite so sure that Tom was right about her. After all, she had one very important thing in common with those girls: she was in love with Tom Riddle.

"Did you know," Tom suddenly said, and Delores's thoughts dispersed like a flock of disturbed butterflies. "That Delores means 'snake' in Japanese?"

"I did not," she admitted weakly. Her heart jiggled inside her chest like jello that hasn't been left in the refrigerator for long enough.

"Well, now you know." He raised his free hand to run his fingers through his hair, still mussed up from the wind. His attempt to neaten it fell short, but Delores didn't mind. Even a hot mess was still hot. "I love snakes."

She couldn't help but giggle. "I can tell."

The two Slytherins sat in companionable silence for some time, still holding hands, and listening to the merry crackling of the dancing fire and the moaning of the wind outside.

Tom eventually broke the silence. "Delores, can you keep a secret?"

Delores wasn't sure she'd _ever_ get used to hearing her name come out of his exquisite mouth.

"Of course," she said, flattered that _the_ Tom Riddle was comfortable confiding in her. Consumed by curiosity, she waited for him to continue speaking.

"I didn't always have an easy time making friends," he began. "During my first few years at Hogwarts, I had none. The only friend I had was my pet snake, Miss Slithersworth." He paused, following a trail of old, painful memories.

Delores felt a pang of sympathy for the child he used to be, so much like herself: lost, lonely, and friendless.

"But then," he started, and his eyes took on a determined, reverent look. "I found Harambe."

"Harambe?" Delores asked. "What is that?"

"Harambe isn't a _what_ , he's a _who_ ," Tom explained with an affectionate chuckle. "He's a supernatural being who appears as a gorilla. With him holding my hand, I didn't feel so lonely anymore." He gently squeezed Delores's hand, smiling brightly at her. "He taught me to develop my positive traits, and thanks to his guidance, I began to grow. I learned how to make friends, how to carry myself, and how to do good in this world by fulfilling his Values. _'Throw babby. Eat banana. Be merry.'_ " He traced the words into the carpet beneath them. "He changed me in every possible way. The man you see today is the direct result of Harambe's efforts."

Delores mulled over Tom's words. She had never before heard of Harambe, despite being an avid reader and consumer of books related to magical creatures and phenomena. Her curiosity eventually got the better of her. "How does he… talk to you?"

"I usually hear him in my head," Tom admitted, seemingly grateful that she wasn't judging him, "but sometimes he visits me in dreams, in a beautiful forest with a clearing of banana trees."

"A forest?" Delores said sharply. She grabbed Tom's arm. "I had a dream earlier today," she blurted out, the words escaping her like a waterfall. "I was in a forest, and I saw a banana tree. And I swear I felt..." she trailed off.

Tom's eyes were suddenly sharp. "Felt what?" He questioned eagerly. The air between them was fraught with anticipation, lightning-sharp.

"I felt like I was being held by a _gorilla!_ " Delores replied, bewildered. "And before you ask, I don't know how I knew it was a gorilla. I just did. I picked a banana from the tree, and then I woke up."

Tom was gazing at her, seeing her in a new light. She flushed as he drew closer and tucked a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear.

"Delores, Harambe wanted me to find you tonight. He wanted us to find _each other_. Don't you see? This is so much more than fate, so much more than a Winter Ball prom-posal! That's why you called to meet me, isn't it? That's why you sent that letter?" His eyes shone with excitement.

Delores cleared her suddenly dry throat. It was now or never. Her heart thundered and her mind screamed at her like a windstorm to _Calm down! Slow down!_ But enough was enough. She was tired of waiting.

"Tom, about the letter - I didn't write it," she admitted. Before he could recoil, she added quickly, "my roommate wrote it for me, because I was too afraid. But I _do_ want to go to the ball with you. That's why I asked you to come outside this evening. I just wanted to be honest with you." She couldn't help but look down, ashamed.

Several seconds passed, seconds that felt like hours, like centuries, filled only with the sound of the crackling fire and her own uncertain breaths. Suddenly, his warm hand was on her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with being cold, and everything to do with Tom's touch.

"Of course I'll be your date to the Ball," said Tom, looking deep into her eyes. He was smiling, and Delores couldn't help but smile too. He held both of her hands, sandwiching them between his own. "Harambe sent me a blessing tonight. I would have you whether you were soaking wet from a fall in the lake or dry as a bone."

Delores couldn't help but let loose a peal of laughter at this most unexpected of occurrences. Never in her wildest dreams did she see herself not only _speaking_ to Tom Riddle, but asking him to the Ball - and _succeeding._

Tom soon joined her. Their combined laughter formed a chorus of joy, backed by the howling wind and the snapping fire. Eventually, their shared mirth subsided into hushed giggles and a comfortable quiet.

Delores's mind whirled with ideas, pondering all that Tom had said to her that night.

"Tom," she started, "may I call you that?"

"Of course." He chuckled. "What else would you call me, He Who Must Not Be Named? Tom is good."

 _You really are,_ she thought in admiration before speaking. Her heart leaped. A divine word guided her tongue. "I want you to teach me about Harambe," she said, and the voice wasn't all her own. It was someone different - someone altogether Delores, only much, much bigger. Someone with a new purpose. Someone with strength and confidence. Someone who would no longer be afraid to give her heart to others out of fear of being hurt.

* * *

"Oh my Satan!" Ebony screeched as Delores relayed the news. "He said yes? Oh, bich – I knew you could do it! I'm so proud."

Delores felt her face flush bright pink. "Thanks!"

Ebony glared at her.

"Oh, sorry – fangz," Delores corrected herself, and Ebony deflated, nodding in approval. Delores couldn't believe her luck – the hottest, most Gothic boy in Hogwarts agreed to go to the Winter Ball with her! Her heart was about to explode out of her chest. Just thinking of his gorgeous visage even now made her want to scream, and she had an urge to… throw something small and cute. She couldn't figure out exactly why, but she didn't dwell on it too much – she had a Ball to plan for!

"I am going to give you the best makeover," Ebony gushed.

 _Oh no,_ Delores thought. "But… I like the colour pink, and you don't," she argued. "Surely I should decide on my own outfit for the Ball." Above all else, Delores wanted to be herself.

"No arguing!" Ebony spittered. "Do you really think Tom Riddle, the hottest Slytherin in all of Hogwarts, likes you for your _personality_? He is a Slytherin, and true Slytherins dress emo. You _need_ to wear black. If you want to be his girlfriend, you need to dress the part."

Delores felt her heart sink. Tom hadn't said anything about her clothes when he agreed to go to the Ball with her, but she didn't argue more with her friend. She had a feeling she wouldn't listen.

From the bottom of her hot pink heart, she knew that Tom saw and appreciated the true, inner Delores. The inner Delores who had an obsession with pink and cats – and he _liked_ it. She didn't know how to explain it to Ebony, who always wore so much makeup that Delores didn't actually know what her friend's naked face looked like.

She had a bad feeling about this, but what if Ebony was right? Could she risk it?

That night, Delores had a tough time sleeping. Her cat sat on her, purring away like a little motor, and she finally fell asleep.

In her dreams, she was wearing a gorgeous pink ball gown, complete with a pink feather boa. Her cat too was wearing a pink boa and was dancing nearby with Tom's pet snake, who was wearing a pink bow tie. Tom himself looked radiant. He was dressed in pink sequined robes. He looked at her like she was his world. Delores wished she never had to wake up.


	5. Dancing Lessons

**Chapter 5: Dancing Lessons and Testing His Loyalty**

The Castle was awhirl with Winter Ball preparations. All around, ghosts and house elves were setting up for the festivities. Students, who were meant to go to class, but didn't, who had not yet found dates gathered in the halls and asked whoever wasn't already taken – it was better to be dead than to be without a date to the Ball, they thought. Some Slytherin kids were even forced to ask, *gag* Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, once the Ravenclaws had run out.

The classes for that day were all dedicated to teaching the many students how to dance. The head of Slytherin house, Mrs. Norris, was growing impatient with her students. "Meow," she meowed angrily, lashing her tail and narrowing her eyes. The students shuffled uncomfortably.

Delores was the only student who could understand what her teacher was saying. She wanted them to get into partners, so they could be taught some basic dance moves. Delores looked around the room, scanning for her Senpai. Her heart fell when she saw him standing next to… Ebony. Ebony had taken his hand, and was following Mrs. Norris's instructions on how to dance far away enough from each other to leave room for the Bible, the Bible 2.0, and all the supplementary reading material related to the Bible. Tom looked suave as ever, and Delores found herself sighing out of jealousy. She turned around to see her partner for this class, a boi named Jake Paul. He kept dabbing, which interrupted the flow of the dance. Delores was growing frustrated. Tom was to be _her_ date. Why was she stuck with this loser?

"Dab on them haters," Jake was spewing. Delores ignored him and put more room for even more supplementary reading material between the two of them. He smelled like cringe and rotten eggs.

Delores stole one more look at Tom and Ebony, only to gasp in shock and horror. Ebony was… touching his face! She was leaning in with a romantical expression on her face. She looked like she was about to smooch him. Tears came into Delores's eyes as she watched the girl she thought was her best friend draw closer to her Senpai…

Who slapped her across the face!

"Excuse me, I'm saving myself for marriage," he bellowed, then swept away from Ebony with a flourish of his robes. He knocked Jake Paul aside with a mere glare from his crystal-blue-green gaze, and got down on one knee, taking one of Delores's hands tenderly in his own. His long, anime-man fingers brushed over her knuckles. "I should be learning to dance with you, my sweet." Delores gawked, and she could see that her best friend rocked a Tom-Riddle-shaped handprint on her pail white face. Ebony was nodding in a pleased manner, strangely enough.

"Okay," Delores replied shakily, and Tom stood up, taking one of her hands and putting his other hand on her waist.

"Professor Mrs. Norris," Tom said deeply. "You may continue your lesson."

"Meow," Mrs. Norris meowed thankfully, then continued on with her lesson.

Delores could burst with happiness. Once the lesson was over, she let go of Tom reluctantly. He gave her a suave eyebrow wiggle and a dazzling smile, then winked and sauntered away. Delores shakily approached Ebony, who still looked oddly pleased.

"I'm sorry he hit you," Delores stuttered, feeling terrible for what Tom had done.

"I did it on purpose," Ebony explained. "I wanted to see how loyal he was to you. Bich, I think he really loves you."

"Do you… do you really think so?" Delores whispered, hiding her smile behind her hands.

Egogy laid a hand on her best friend's shoulder. "Yes bich," she said reassuringly. "Satan bless your souls. You are both going to have gorgeously emo children!"

Delores hoped so. Oh, did she hope so.


	6. Things Get Spicy

This chapter is dedicated to the birthday girl Tzipopo. Happy birthday, bich!

 **Chapter 6: Things Get Spicy**

Delores sat on the edge of her pink bed, turning over a small pink card in her hands. _To my sweet snake,_ it read in the most gorgeous script she had ever seen. Each 's' had a little eyeball and snake tongue. _I will see you at the ball tonight._ The endearing note had accompanied a small bouquet of magenta roses. Delores had found the flower and note on her bed that afternoon. As she read, Ebony was going through her ebony wardrobe and pulling out black dress after black dress and jabbering on about how hot each of them would make her best friend look.

 _They all look the same,_ Delores thought. She wished Ebony would just let her wear whatever _she_ wanted.

"Hello?" Ebony suddenly snarkled. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah," Delores replied with a wide, forced smile.

"Good. Here, put this on." Delores had no choice but to drop the letter Tom had written her in order to catch the black mass of fabric that Ebony had shoved into her hands. "I need to find you some shoes."

Delores waited until Ebony had buried her face in her black shoe wardrobe to drop the dress on her bed, a black stain in a sea of pink blanket, and turn back to Tom's note. She brought it closer to her face and sniffed it deeply, breathing in the oils his fingers had left on it, and sighed dreamily. She tucked it safely away underneath her pillow, then began the process of putting on the ugly black dress Ebony had given her.

Oh, was it _ugly_. It was a lace-covered monstrosity with some leather panels, a black corset, and a neckline so low it made Delores extremely nervous. She shifted uncomfortably in the black abomination, looking at herself in the mirror. Ebony appeared behind her, holding a pair of black, high-heeled boots.

Delores inwardly sighed. This would be a _long_ night.

She was right, of course. Ebony insisted on decking Delores's face with emo black and white makeup, and dying her hair black with streaks of bloody red. Slowly, she stopped looking like herself, and started looking more like Ebony. She didn't know how she felt about that.

As Ebony herself got ready for the Winter Ball (she was going with James Potter's grandfather, Johnny Potter, but he went by the more emo name of $hockw ve), Delores sat quietly on her bed, lost in her own thoughts. Her cat nuzzled her hand, but she didn't feel the urge to pet him and adorn him with kisses and cuddles – she felt empty inside, like she had lost her sense of self.

"I'm ready," Egogy expowled. "Let's go, bich!" She was wearing a similarly dark, emo, strappy, kind of interesting outfit. The two best friends left their shared dorm room and joined the multitudes of students heading towards the Winter Ballroom. Delores could feel people's burning stares boring into her, and she looked down at the floor to avoid their gazes. On and on they walked, through some hallways and down some stairs, into the Ballroom. Music was playing – preppy, classical music that grated at Delores's ears. Delores still hadn't looked up. She didn't' want to see Tom – she was too embarrassed and self-conscious. Suddenly, Ebony stopped walking, causing Delores to smash into her and trip in her heels, falling on the floor in an ungraceful mess. She looked up.

The music faded into the background as she met Tom's eyes. He was standing amid his squad of emo Slytherin purebloods, all dressed in black, but he, in his gorgeous handsomeness, was... he was wearing pink. Barbie pink robes adorned his muscular, masculine frame, flowing around his hunkiness. His pink sequined tie glittered as he strode towards her, and Delores suddenly recoiled. Ebony had said he would be wearing black. Everyone knew about the unsaid rule of matching with your date... Ebony was wrong. Delores was humiliated!

Everyone was staring at them. Delores suddenly burst into tears and scrambled to her feet, ripping off her obnoxious heels and racing away, shoving aside some stupid Hufflepreps. Thoughts raced through her mind. _I can't believe this,_ she thought frantically. _It's just like in my dream, only... far worse! Why did Ebony have to dress me like this! I'm so embarrassed! Everyone was staring at me! EVERYONE knows that you need to match with your date, or you'll get kicked out of school!_

Still sobbing uglily, Delores whipped her door open and threw herself onto her bed, crying/cring. Her cat tried to comfort her, but she shoved him aside, distraught.

 _Why did this happen to me?_


	7. Gorilla Godmother

**Chapter 7: Gorilla Godmother**

Dark makeup streamed down Delores's face as she sobbed on the floor like a child. Her date with Tom had been ruined – she could never face the school now. Her cat once again approached her to comfort her, but she shoved him away again. He meowed urgently, and she looked up, sniffling obnoxiously. "What?" She scrame, demanding from the animal. "What do you want now? Do you want food?" Her voice trembled. "How can you want to eat when such a tragedy has occurred?!"

"Meow," her cat said, and Delores froze. Someone was standing in her doorway. Someone devilishly handsome.

He was even more gorgeous from this vantage point. She could even see up his pristine nostrils. He surged forward and was suddenly at her side, glittering eyes boring into hers. His hands gripped her shoulders with masculine strength. Delores nearly fainted on the spot. "What is wrong, my sweet Delores, my beautiful snake empress?"

Delores suddenly hid her face in her hands, ashamed. "Don't look at me, Tom. I'm hideous."

"No," he grabed her wrist and gently tugged it away from her tear-stained face. He laid a cold, vaguely nasty, clammy hand on her cheek. "Delores, I love you for who you are. I want to go to the Ball with Delores, not a persona you created to impress me."

"Ebony made me do it," she babbled, but Tom shushed her and pressed a finger to her lips.

"Ebony knows nothing of our love," he bellowed. "Her cold heart has never felt the warmth of true affection. She is just obsessed with goth boys. But I am no mere goth. I am a also disciple of Harambe. Remember what I taught you, that night under the whomping willow sapling?"

Delores did remember. That night, as the two curled close together under Tom's warm cloak, he taught her about Harambism. He taught her all about Gorilla Values, and about how they were meant to make this world a better place. "I do," she replied with a hiccup.

It was then that both of them heard the most holy of voices. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere and yet nowhere. A surge of strength entered Delores's tired body. A voice boomed from the heavens. _"Delores Jane Umbridge, you have opened your heart to my teachings, and I will answer the call of your soul. I am Harambe, and I am here to help. Stand up, my daughter."_

Delores slowly rose, letting go of Tom's hand. He gazed up at her in shock and reverence, floored to his knees as his Lord and Saviour spoke directly to the love of his life. He watched as Delores was engulfed in a hairy black light, a light of Harambism, surrounding her like a cocoon. Baby chimpanzees sang and flitted around on hairy black wings. Babbies cried in the distance as Delores's emo dress was transformed into the most beautiful pink gown, luxurious and of the highest pink fabric count. A cloak of hot pink gorilla fur fell upon her shoulders, and it sparkled with inner light (the gorilla who sacrificed himself for this occasion did so very willingly, so the cloak was vegan). After her Sailor Moon-esque transformation sequence, Delores was set down on the ground lightly. Lightheaded, she stumbled with one of those weird anime gasp noises that nobody ever actually makes in real life, and Tom caught her in his buff, manly, exquisite embrace.

The light of Harambe slowly faded away, but both of them felt stronger, somehow – and more spiritually uplifted.

"Delores," Tom whispered in awe, eyes bright with emotion and awe. "My beauty, are you okay?"

"I feel fine," Delores said.

"Then let us go downstairs and dance, my sweet snake goddess, Harambian angel of mine."

And so they did.

Everyone stared at them, not out of scorn or disgust, but out of pure, unadulterated awe. Even Ebony was floored as Tom and Delores swept across the Ballroom, engulfed by what looked and smelled like heavenly light. Tears ran down everyone's faces from the gorgeousness that was permeating their reality as the heavenly couple began to dance slowly and sensuously. The ghost playing the piano felt the urge come upon him to play Wake Me Up by Evanescence, which, by the way, could not have fit this romantic, slow dance better.

Tom hummed along to the romantic rhythm and Delores herself began to tear up. She rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in deeply. His luscious hair smelled exactly like she dreamed it would, only ten times better. Oh, how she wished this moment would never end.

 _ **CRASH!**_

The music stopped right before the first "Wake me up (wake me up inside)," which really detracted from the overall romance of the scene. Delores and Tom stopped dancing. The students began to scream, and a dark, foreboding form appeared where there had once been a stained-glass window.

"Who are you?" Tom pulled out his wand threateningly. The threat was undoubtedly magnified by his choice in outfit, but the figure didn't look scared at all. In fact, it looked amused.

"Oh, Tom," the figure sneered. Upon further inspection, the figure had no nose, looking almost… snakelike. _"I'm you."_

 _To be continued…_


	8. Hell in a Pink Handbasket

" _Who are you?" Tom pulled out his wand threateningly. The threat was undoubtedly magnified by his choice in outfit, but the figure didn't look scared at all. In fact, it looked amused._

" _Oh Tom," the figure sneered. Upon further inspection, the figure had no nose, looking almost... snakelike. "I'm you."_

 _To be continued..._

 **Chapter 8:** **Everything Goes to Hell in a Pink Handbasket**

"What?" Tom's normally smooth and succulent voice trembled with shock and disbelief. "You're..."

"Me, yes. And I'm you," the white guy with no nose interjected, brandishing his wand dramatically. His black robes flapped around his form. Delores felt bile rise in her throat as she watched the man – no, the monster. Not only did his fashion sense disgust her, but his claim to be her Tom really disturbed her. She knew how popular Tom was, but this was just weird. How could he be Tom? Tom was a handsome man with hair that smelled like redemption – and he had a nose. This creature had none of those things, and besides, he was wearing a gross black robe, not a sparkly pink one.

Delores didn't know where she got the strength from, but she cleared her throat and said in a voice more confident than she felt, "You must leave this place. You are not welcome here."

"Yeah, what she said," a nearby student crowed. All around Delores and Tom, the students began rising, overcoming their fear to defend the pink-clad couple.

"The power of Harambe compels you!" Tom suddenly scrame, shooting a spell at the creature from his wand, which he had spray painted a sparkly pink for the Winter Ball. The no-nosed creature cackled and everyone watched in shock as the spell seemingly absorbed into the shadowy mass of his billowy cloak-covered chest.

"You can't hurt you, Tom," he sneered and leaped off the window sill, seemingly flying through the air. "We left Harambe's favour long ago!" He made contact with Tom and the two rolled on the floor, wrestling. Students scattered, determination lost to the wind as they saw the hottest boi in school be taken down by a scrawny man with no nose. Even though Tom was the best dueler in school, Hogwarts didn't really practice wrestling or any hands on type of sport, so he was sorely outmatched. Delores felt rage engulf her heart and she too screamed out a spell, aiming towards the man in the cloak. He looked up, snake-like eyes meeting hers, before opening his mouth and swallowing her spell whole. He gulped audibly in a creepy, ASMR-type way, and Delores stepped backwards, trembling.

Tom looked at her from on the floor, nose bloodied, and eyes fearful. "My beauty," he choked out vaguely nastily, kinda like he had a hairball in his throat. Delores knew how that sounded like because she had a cat. "Run, run for your life! And never forget that... love is the only way. Harambism is love, Harambism is—" His next words were cut off by the white man with no nose grabing him by his neck and raising him into the air.

Delores only faintly heard what Tom had said. Her rage was far too strong. She suddenly felt weaker, as if some of her strength had abandoned her, but she still launched another spell at the creature...

...Who was suddenly no longer there. He had disappeared, along with her newly acquired boyfriend.

The ballroom was silent, then Delores began to wail. Her boyfriend was gone, taken by some deranged no-nosed freak who claimed to _be_ Tom. Students watched as she fell to her knees, and amid her tears, Delores noticed that her pink dress was... gone. She was wearing her black dress, like before. The gorilla fur stole was also gone. Nobody else seemed to notice, but Delores felt a lack of... awareness for her furry lord. What had she done?

 _Harambe?_ She reached out in her mind and heart, but there was no answer. She felt empty, like the revelation she had just experienced went sour.

So many questions raced through her frazzled mind.

Where was her Tom?

Would she ever get him back?

What was he trying to tell her before he disappeared, before the man with no nose cut him off?

 _What did she do wrong?_


	9. The Aftermath

**Chapter 9: The Aftermath**

The Winter Ball was adjourned, and the teachers escorted the students to their respective dorm rooms. A quiet but audible hum seemed to surround Delores on all sides, even though she was separated from her peers by four walls and a door: students were gossiping relentlessly about what had happened – _whatever_ it was – at the Ball.

Tom. The white man with no nose. Both gone, in the blink of an eye (just like the man's nose, which Delores assumed he had lost in a tragic accident, perhaps an encounter with a forklift).

Delores felt numb, as if her heart had ceased to beat. She felt dead, inside and out – she had told Ebony about this feeling earlier, but she just said that was normal. Delores didn't know how she felt about that. Moonlight spilled onto her devastated frame through the opening in the pink window curtains, but Delores felt more in the dark than ever.

 _What am I going to do?_ She thought in desperation. Her cat sat on her lap, trying to calm her down. Usually, petting her cat would bring her to a state of absolute serenity and calm, but today, things were just too much. She felt so overwhelmed, emotions washing over her like a tidal wave, and all she wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up and find that all of this was just a dream.

But as she changed into pyjamas and brushed her teeth (pink pyjamas, pink toothpaste in hopes to dye her teeth pink, and a pink toothbrush), and climbed into her pink sheets, she knew that this was real. It wasn't a dream. As Ebony snored away gutturally in her coffin on the other side of the room, Delores couldn't sleep. She couldn't even if she tried.

Finally giving up, she turned over in bed, jostling her cat accidentally, for which she begged his forgiveness, and picked up the card that Tom had given her earlier that day. Tears came to her eyes as she read his exquisite note and she found herself sobbing in her bed, dripping salty tears onto his note, and blurring the letters beyond recognition. She looked at the vase, the one holding the beautiful pink flowers that Tom had given her before the Ball, and suddenly a surge of justice entered her heart and turned her tears from salty-sad to salty-serious-business. She felt a renewed sense of hope as she looked at these flowers. Dramatic music began to play, sounding like Bring Me to Life by Evanescence, but like hella quiet, so it just faded away into the background, adding to the scene in an altogether useless yet very emotional and edgy way – with it playing you just knew something epic/cringey (take your pick) was gonna happen. It just was.

"This won't be the end of you," she said. "Just like these flowers have stayed alive and pink - despite Ebony and I's blatant inability to take care of any plant or animal besides for my one cat that probably preys on Hufflepuffs at night - they are alive. So is my Tom. I will find you, my snake prince. I now understand why my spells didn't work on that creature. I didn't listen to you, Tom," her voice cracked. "I didn't let love fill my heart, I didn't spread Gorilla Values. Instead, I let my fear and anger cloud my judgement. I won't make that same mistake again."

The flowers did not reply, as they were inanimate. If they were, they would likely have replied something along the lines of, "You've got this, girl." The dramatic music which had begun to play quietly now intensified in intensity. That part in the song came where there's like air surging and stuff before the first chorus rocks the very crust of the Earth.

"I will get you back," she vowed while her cat nodded in the background.

"Meow," her cat agreed gravely.

When the first "Wake me up" hit, Delores was ready. Cue the montage: Leaping out of her bed, she put on her pink camo army outfit and pink hardcore boots. She splashed pink paint on her face and put extra heavy duty hair spray in her hair. Arming herself with her pink wand, she picked her cat up and geared him up, arming him with night vision goggles that coloured the room pink instead of that nasty, nauseating green. She marched out of the room with her cat, hell-bent on getting her boyfriend back.

Righteous fury burned within her heart, not revenge, but the urge to educate and spread love and to save, and she felt lighter, somehow – like she wasn't alone in this, like someone was standing beside her and holding her hand in their furry one, and it wasn't her cat, because he was too short and she'd know his kitty toe beans anywhere. No, these beans felt hard, calloused... holy, even. The beans of a martyr. The beans of _Harambe_.

 _With the love of Me in your heart, you can accomplish any task,_ Harambe's exquisite voice echoed in her mind, turning all her doubts to jelly. _If you are spreading Gorilla Values, you will never see failure._

With the light and love of Harambe once again in her heart, she set out to find the snake man of her dreams.


	10. The Search Begins

**Chapter 10: The Search Begins**

Delores's heavy footsteps echoed around her as she marched through the halls of Hogwarts, her cat on her left, and the spirit of Harambe on her right. She had never felt so determined in her life, but worry continued to eat away at her heart, worry for her newfound boyfriend. Where was he, and what was he doing? Was he even alive? She squared her shoulders, not wanting to think about it anymore.

Back to business.

The troupe made their way into the empty ballroom. The house elves had since cleaned up the food tables and wizard punch bowls, but Delores hoped there would be enough evidence at the scene for her cat to track him by scent.

She knelt down on the floor where she saw Tom last and drug her finger across the floor, taking a sniff of it. "Mr. Cuddlesworth, come have a sniff," she commanded her cat.

Mr. Cuddlesworth sniffed at the spot on the ground, then meowed, shaking his furry head. Delores felt her heart sink. The house elves must have mopped hours ago, and his scent was gone.

"Harambe damn it," Delores swore, covering her face with her hands, on the verge of another nervous breakdown. She thought this would work. "Sniff again! You must have made a mistake!" She scrame, frightening her cat, but she didn't care. Her ugly cries reverberated around the empty room. She fell to her knees once again.

Suddenly, she felt a warm and comforting hand settle on her shoulder. When she looked up, nobody was there, but she knew that it was none other than her Lord and Saviour.

 _Don't cry, my daughter,_ he said softly, almost like a father to his child that annoys him the least. _For I knew this would be for naught. You are looking for clues in the wrong places. Look down, my daughter._

It was then that Delores noticed the card and the rose, sitting on the floor in front of her. She picked them up, and suddenly she understood.

"I can use these to track him," she whispered. "With magic!" A sudden sense of triumph washed over her, and she nearly jumped with jubilant joy. "Harambe bless!"

Nevermind how these objects ended up in the ballroom, when they were in her bedroom just a minute ago - the powers that Harambe possesses are truly magical and wonderful in nature. Delores scooped up the flower and planted gentle kisses on each of its outermost petals. She then set it down next to the note Tom had written her, and pulled out her wand to perform the tracking spell.

"Invenire valoremuta!"

Misty pink sparkles shot out of her wand, settling around Tom's gifts. After several moments of nothing happening, the misty stream began stretching across the floor, leading towards the door. Delores picked up the rose and the note and stuffed them into her pink fanny pack.

 _Follow that line of mist, my children,_ the voice of Harambe ordered.

Delores and her cat chased after the pink mist, following it through the winding halls of Hogwarts, until they were finally outside of the school entirely. Delores panted – she was unused to so much exercise (relatable) – and stopped when the Forbidden Forest came into view. She gulped, dread filling her as she realized the pink mist lead directly inside the dark woods. Her heart thumped in her chest, fear pulsing through her veins like snake venom – she'd prefer the latter at this moment. She closed her eyes to regain her senses.

 _It's just a forest, Dee,_ she said to herself, or perhaps it was Harambe who said it. She didn't know anymore.

The gentle brushing of her cat's tail against her ankle shook her out of her fearful reverie. Mr. Cuddlesworth looked up at her and meowed encouragingly. Delores nodded and took a deep breath before setting off towards the Forbidden Forest, path illuminated by the lightly-glowing pink mist snaking its way through the dark grass, and into the gloomy unknown.

* * *

 **AN:** Apparently, Google doesn't know the incantation for the tracking spell in Harry Potter, so I made one up. Yes, it translates from Latin to "Gorilla Value Find" – which makes no sense – but neither does this story, so thanks for reading this piece of hot garbage (it will only get worse), and Harambe bless.


	11. My Sweet Horse Prince

**A/N:** Fangz to mi frend Crimson 4 lendin meh moreal suport 4 da writign of dis chaptah. Yu rok, bich!1!

* * *

 **Chapter 11: My Sweet Horse Prince**

Leaves and twigs crunched underfoot as Delores, her cat, and the spirit of Harambe walked through the Forbidden Forest. Ominous whinnies and howls carried over on the slight breeze, making Delores shiver, and her cat tense up: centaurs and... gulp, werewolves. She was _not_ a dog person, and werewolves were essentially dogs, so she was _not_ a werewolf person, either. She was a cat person, had always been a cat person, and would always be a cat person – no ifs, ands, or buts about it. And besides, dogs smelled, and Delores could only _imagine_ how badly a werewolf would smell by comparison.

The pink and white mist of Delores's spell slithered just above the ground, winding around trees, through bushes, over rocks and babbling creeks, and went on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on until Delores lost track of just how far they'd come.

"How long until we reach Tom?" She asked Harambe.

 _Soon, my daughter,_ the gorilla reassured her. _I can sense his devotion – he is nearby._

Hearing this gave Delores a new surge of energy. She sped up her pace, pink boots falling determinedly and viciously on the crunchy ground as she trudged on towards her love. She fancied she could smell the scent of his hair on the breeze, but that was likely just her matrixing from being in the woods for too long.

The trees grew sparser and sparser, and the trio soon entered an empty clearing. Moonlight spilled onto the grass, staining each frond silver. The pink trail led towards the very middle of the clearing, and just... stopped.

Delores jogged over to the spot where the pink mist halted, frowning.

Tom wasn't here.

"There's nothing here," she whined, pulling out her wand again to perform the spell again – perhaps it had worn off?

She felt a furry hand clamp down on her shoulder. _No. He is here._

"How can he be here if he isn't here?" Delores back-talked her Creator, feeling a bit saucy.

 _He is here,_ Harambe clarified, _only we cannot see him._

 _Very helpful_ , Delores thought sassily, about to voice her opinion on the matter when Mr. Cuddlesworth began to growl. His butt was raised in the air, and his tail was poofed out like when a person with very curly hair brushes their hair when it's dry, like a savage, instead of brushing it when it's wet, like a civilized human being.

Delores tensed up. If her cat was getting nervous, then there truly was something to get nervous about. He wasn't a skittish cat, but he was glaring in the direction from which they came. He began to hiss ferociously, and Delores brandished her wand threateningly as the leaves rustled.

"I know you're out there! Show yourself, you prep poser!" Her wand hand was trembling with fear, but she could hardly believe how brave she sounded.

The bushes rustled some more, then parted to reveal two gorgeous specimens: centaurs, built like bricks, if horses could be bricks without ceasing to be horses. Their bottom halves were horse, ink-black and shining in the moonlight, and their top halves were human, with six-packs and glistening pectorals. They were exquisite, in every sense of the word – not as exquisite as her Tom, but still, _very_ exquisite indeed. Delores was enraptured as the two centaurs drew closer, close enough for her to see their twin black braids, chiseled faces, and obsidian eyes. Absolutely exquisite. Exquisite, exquisite, exquisite.

"Your Highness, it's only a girl and her cat," the centaur on the right said in a voice that sounded like Dark Molasses.

"Yeah, what he said," the other centaur added. His voice sounded like Lukewarm Vegemite. "Just a girl and her cat."

"A girl?" A deep chuckle emanated from the bushes from whence the two centaurs came. The bushes rustled again, and a centaur far more exquisite than the two standing before Delores stepped out from among the branches and leaves. His coat was a deep chestnut, and glistened like disco pants in the light of the moon. What set him apart from the other centaurs was his immense, regal height, and his lack of human torso – in fact, the only human thing about him was his... face. He had a horse body, a horse neck, and a human face...

...A human face that was so exquisite, so dashingly handsome, that Delores almost passed out on the spot. His emerald green eyes, so much like Tom's, pierced her like a knife, leaving her feeling vulnerable and weak in the knees. His chin was chiseled to a tapered, diamond-like point with which he could cut glass with ease, let alone room-temperature butter. His oaky-brown hair fell over his eyes, and he tossed his horse neck to free his exquisite face of the offending hairs.

"Hello," he spoke again, and Delores's heart flipped. Even though she was very much in love with Tom, she would be lying if she said she wasn't intensely attracted to this... horse-man. His voice was far more exquisite and deep than his friends' – it sounded like when you stir a pot of Wacky Mac macaroni and cheese, and you add too much milk to the powder. Exactly like that, only _indescribably_ more exquisite.

"H-hi," she replied, meeting his emerald green eyes with her swamp-brown ones. She suddenly wished she were still wearing her pink ball gown and Vegan gorilla stole, but she dared not ask Harambe to redress her right now. She had no idea if these centaurs were believers in the true gospel of Harambe. And besides, she wasn't there to flirt.

"What are you doing out here, in the woods?" The first black-haired centaur, Dark Molasses asked.

"It's dangerous out here, you know," The second black-haired centaur, Lukewarm Vegemite, added.

Delores suddenly found her voice as she remembered why she entered the Forbidden Forest in the first place. "I'm looking for someone, a... friend." She didn't know why she felt the urge to lie about her relationship with Tom, but something about the handsome chestnut centaur made her fib. "He's been kidnapped by a horrible man with no nose. Have you seen him?"

The twin centaurs looked at one another, then at their leader, who was standing several feet behind them.

"I know this man with no nose well," the horse with the man face whinnied gravely. "He terrorizes my kingdom with his incessant time traveling. He came by this clearing not too long ago, but disappeared into a space-time pocket."

"A space-time pocket? Like a calzone?" Delores couldn't help it – she was hungry. Her stomach grumbled.

"Yes, like a calzone." The horse-man raised a hoof in an altogether anatomically incorrect and disturbing way to scratch his chin. "Come to think of it, he _did_ have a man with him – a man with dark hair and a nose."

"Yes, that's him! That's Tom!" Delores cried out. Tom had been here – he wasn't here now, but he was nearby, in some space-time calzone. "You have to help me get him out. He means the world to me!" Her eyes began to brim over with tears.

Suddenly, the chestnut centaur was inches away from her face, wiping away her tears with a hoof. "Don't cry, my dear," he whinnied. "We will help you find your friend in the morning. In the meantime, please come with us. You must be hungry, and it is dangerous for a young girl and cat to be wandering around in the Forbidden Forest at night. There are werewolves out here, you know."

"But Prince Yuuma—" Dark Molasses protested. "Your father won't be pleased with you bringing a human girl to our camp."

"And a cat," Lukewarm Vegemite added rather uselessly, as everyone could see that Delores's cat would be accompanying her wherever she went.

"Silence!" The chestnut centaur, who Delores now identified as Prince Yuuma, bellowed. "My father can be displeased, for all I care. I will not have the death of this young beauty and her cat on my hooves. She and her cat are coming with us."

Dark Molasses and Lukewarm Vegemite shuffled awkwardly and bowed. "As you wish," they muttered in unison.

Prince Yuuma looked pleased. He bent down low to the ground beside Delores. "Climb on," he whinnied, and Delores complied. She watched her cat jump on top of Dark Molasses's back and begin batting at his braid as the centaur began walking back into the forest, followed by the Prince, then Lukewarm Vegemite taking up the rear.

"Why are you helping me?" Delores whispered to the horse Prince upon which she sat as they walked through the woods towards the centaurs' camp.

He chuckled, and Delores could feel his laughter beneath her, reverberating throughout her tired body. She hadn't realized how exhausted she was, until now. "It is my duty as the Prince of the Centaurs to tend to the needs of my people, whether they be centaur, cat, or human. The Forbidden Forest is my kingdom, which makes you one of my subjects that I swore to protect. What is your name, my dear?"

Delores blinked, feeling her mouth turn dry as sand. "D-Delores," she stuttered. "It means 'Snake' in Japanese." She silently pinched herself for saying something so stupid. _What's gotten into you, Dee?! You're going with them to get help finding your **boyfriend**! You can't just fall in love with some centaur you just met! Keep it together and stop rambling!_

"What a beautiful name," the Prince said, swinging around his grotesque horse neck in a way that was definitely not natural, nor was it healthy, and he flashed her a dashing, sparkling smile. His gorgeous green eyes were bright with some unknown emotion, and the intensity of his gaze made Delores's face turn cherry-red, and caused all of her thought processes to stop and melt away. "Delores means 'Sweet Horse Princess' in Centaur."

"Really?" Delores breathed. She had had no idea that her name had so many beautiful meanings. As a child, she had always been ashamed of having such a boring, plain name, but now, she was slowly growing to love it.

"Yes," the horse Prince nodded. "My name is Prince Yuuma, but you may call me Yuuma. It means 'Sweet Horse Prince' in Centaur. It also means 'Blessed By Harambe'."

"You believe in Harambe too?" Delores asked, completely dumfounded. She had no idea that Harambism was so widespread.

"Of course!" Yuuma whinnied. "We believe that Harambe formed this beautiful world and all within it. I believe that it was His Will that brought you to us tonight, and us to you. We were meant to meet, Sweet Horse Princess Delores." His voice was almost hypnotic, and Delores found herself clinging onto every word that left his human mouth, which was somehow attached to a horse neck and body. "It was written in the stars."


	12. Breakfast at Ebony

**A/N:** fangz 4 al teh suport yu all have GIeven me for dis sorty! (NUT U KRIMSUN GIV ME BAK MY GAEARD WAY POSTR YOU PREP!1)

* * *

 **Chapter 12:** _Breakfast at Ebony's_

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Ebony awakened with a yawn. Rising from her coffin ever so dramatically, as she did every morning at 6:66 AM sharp, she noted Delores's absence with a degree of disappointment: she enjoyed scaring her friend to death.

Sighing at the missed opportunity, Ebony stepped out of her coffin to get ready for the day. Since Delores wasn't in the room, and presumably already at breakfast, she had full control of what music played.

Jamming a MCR tape into the tape player, Ebony upped the volume and moshed around the empty room as she got dressed and made up her face. That day, she wore black leather gloves, a ring with Satan's face on it, black fishnet tights, black leather boots with spikes on them and 6.66 inch heels, a black tutu with handmade red felt 666's attached to it via glue gun, and a black leather corset on top of a black fishnet top. Her face was covered in pale white foundation, black lipstick, black eyeliner, and black eyeshadow. After brushing her waste-length ebony hair and arranging the red streaks how she liked them, she was ready to take on the day.

Delores wasn't Ebony's only friend. Au contraire: the young emo woman had three more friends, each as emo and depressed as the next. Their names were Devil, Raven, and Soulless, and they were to meet her for a hearty breakfast of Count Chocula cereal and blood. Usually, Delores would join them, opting to eat pink bamba cereal and strawberry milk instead, but that day, as Ebony emo-ly walked into the grand dining hall and surveyed the room, the pink-obsessed abomination was nowhere in sight.

This didn't bother Ebony very much. In fact, she felt an emotion akin to happiness at her roommate's absence – Delores's pink clothes hurt her eyes, which were far more accustomed to the darkness and more subdued colours.

Two of her three friends were already sat down at the table, and waved her over with their hands forming the sign of the Devil: two middle fingers folded underneath the thumb, with the pointer finger and pinkie finger extended. In other circles, this sign was known as the Snail.

"Konichiwa, bich," Devil greeted Ebony in her native Japanese as she sat down and poured herself a cup of red blood. "Bad morning." She was careful to use the correct wording when speaking – no morning was a good morning, least of all a sunny morning, where the sun had risen yet again, and had not yet been absorbed into the Oneness that was their dark lord Satan, otherwise known as Saran (like the wrap, which, as we all know, is pure evil).

Devil was tall and willowy, like an elf from Lord of the Rings – but not a preppy elf, like Legolas, or Galadriel. She looked like the emo elf Figwit, with her jet-black hair and emo fringe, which was shot through with venomous green streaks. Green was Devil's favourite colour because it was the colour of the snake emoji, and she loved snakes almost as much as Ebony did. In fact, she had a snake wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet; his name was Danger Noodle, and he too was a member of their little emo breakfast club.

"Konichiwa," Ebony replied gravely. "Bad morning, Devil. Bad morning, Raven. Bad morning, Danger Noodle. Where's Soulless?"

"OH MY BADNESS! I THINK SHE'S STILL SLEEPING!" Raven squeaked in a depressed tone. She had one earphone in, and was absently moshing to Sadness Leiner, her favourite emo singer, whose music brought his listeners to new levels of depression and metaconsciousness. She too had jet-black hair, but she had been blessed with eyes as black and depressed as her hair and soul. She too was wearing all black, and was clad in homemade jewelry that adequately expressed her goth identity.

"Unfortunately, I am awake," the dry, depressed voice of Soulless made Ebony and her friends swivel their heads towards the entrance of the dining hall. Soulless was even paler than Ebony, and avoided sunshine like the plague, hissing like a cat whenever she even so much looked outside without wearing sunglasses. She had hair as red as blood, which resembled a mop, if the mop were dipped in a caddy full of Halloween Store fake blood, and not water – imagine that, only, like, dry.

"Bad morning, Soulless," Devil greeted her as she sat down beside her.

"OH MY BADNESS! BAD MORNING!" Raven squealed at an octave much higher than the human/vampire ear could register, and the werewolves in the Forbidden Forest winced in pain as their ears began to bleed.

"Worst of the morning to you, my friends," Soulless replied. She was an Irish vampire at heart, and often used a gothic version of the "traditional" Irish greeting of "top of the morning to you", which, as most people did not know, originated from vampiric tradition.

"Fangz!" Ebony said with an emo smile.

The trio ate and talked, complaining about the good weather, for exactly 6 minutes and 66 seconds before anyone noticed Delores's absence.

"Where's Delores?" Devil asked mid-chew.

"I don't know." Ebony shrugged. "Maybe she went to chase after that emo man with no nose who kidnapped Tom last night. I don't really care."

Soulless looked at Devil, who looked at Raven, who looked back at Soulless, completing the Saranic circle of looks before shrugging in unison and going back to their breakfasts. Delores could fend for herself, and if Ebony wasn't worried for her roommate, there was no point in wasting too many brain cells worrying about her, either.

"Wanna come upstairs to my room and mosh to some Evanesence?" Ebony asked as their empty bowls and cups disappeared. "Since Delores is gone, we have the whole place to ourselves."

"OOH! OOH! WE CAN MAKEOVER HER SIDE OF THE ROOM!" Raven squeaked, clapping her hands together in a depressed fashion.

"That's a terrible idea, Raven!" Devil exclaimed. "I've always hated the colour pink. Let's paint over her side of the room."

"Bad idea," Soulless said with a nod. "That sounds depressing." By depressing, Soulless obviously meant that it would be a fun experience – and it would be. What could be more fun than having a gothic, moshing extravaganza?

Nothing – that's what.

"Let's go, biches! Let's mosh 'till our eyes bleed!" Ebony cried, rising.

And so they did, with nary a thought as to Delores's whereabouts or safety crossing their gothic, depressed minds.


	13. Here, There Be Hot Dudes

**A/N:** Konichiwa, biches! Fangz 2 Krimsun 4 finely retorning my gerad wey postur and 4 halpin me wif dis chaptah. Yur sup[ert ios vary halp[ful and i am gratfuyl 4 all ur halp gurl! U rok! (just DUNT TAKE IT AGEN! OR WE WIL NO LONGUR B frenz. Dis is a warnyng xxx)

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Here, There Be Hot Dudes**

Unearthly, bloodcurdling howls echoed in the distance as the centaurs and their charges picked their way through the brush, under the shade of the trees, with only the barest sliver of moonlight filtering through the branches overhead. As the small fellowship passed under openings in the foliage, the silver light of the moon set Yuuma's mane alight, dancing across his silky brown hair and horse ears, and shimmered across his sleek roan flank. Delores found herself mesmerised by his movements.

Oh, how beautiful he was – how exquisite!

 _Snap out of it, Dee_ , she reprimanded herself, only to once again find herself distracted by the gorgeousness of the centaur with the face of a man which was currently permeating her sucky reality. Though she technically had a boyfriend (who she was currently trying to rescue), she rationalized her attraction in her crush-addled brain.

 _Tom wouldn't mind if I just... Took in the scenery. He too would appreciate such beauty... After all, Harambe created Yuuma, too. Yeah. I can look, and appreciate Yuuma's exquisiteness. There's nothing wrong with that, so long as I don't forget my mission._

She tried to picture Tom in her mind, with his exquisite, dark hair and mesmerising blue-green eyes, but her mind-image broke away when Yuuma whipped his head around to check on her. Delores looked away guiltily, cheeks colouring.

 _Keep it together. You can do this._

The pace they set was dreamlike and slow, which didn't help Delores's wandering thoughts, but eventually, the three centaurs and their human and cat companions reached their destination. Two centaurs, each equally as chiseled and exquisite, but not _as_ chiseled and exquisite as Yuuma and his charges, stood on either side of a wooden gate situated in between two towering trees. An arch of wood made out of two winding branches from either tree wrapped over the gate, forming a tall arch. Delores was able to discern silver letters made up of winding leaves and ivy fronds, reading in looping letters, _Thessaly Ranch_.

Delores looked about in wonder as the guards opened the wooden gate and allowed them entrance to the centaur camp. At first glance, it looked like any old ranch, but when Delores looked closer, she realized that each building was built with high enough ceilings and doorways to house centaurs of even greater height than Yuuma, Dark Molasses, and Lukewarm Vegemite.

Yuuma and his squad trotted over to the largest building, which looked like any old barn, if an old barn had taken Dianabol and Testosterone, and then some Anadrol for extra measure. In short, it was a hulking, massive barn, built to comfortably house centaurs of high status, given the golden accenting on the pristine white barn doors.

Two more centaur guards stood posted by the barn doors, and each nodded respectfully to the Prince as he bent down to allow Delores to dismount. She walked over to Lukewarm Vegemite – or was it Dark Molasses? - and held out her arms for her cat to jump into. She held him close to her chest as the barn doors opened, and Yuuma led her inside.

The interior of the great barn looked unlike any barn Delores had ever seen. The walls were covered with exquisite draperies of scarlet, gold, and silver, and the entire floor was carpeted in a royal red plush. Delores suddenly felt entirely underdressed, noting her royal, beautiful surroundings, and the ten regal-looking centaurs standing at attention along the walls of the barn.

At the end of the barn, upon a pedestal lined with golden hay, stood two centaurs. The taller of the two centaurs commanded a powerful presence, with his immense height, buff arms, and chiseled face. His hair fell in snowy waves down his tanned, rugged body – he was a classical centaur, with the torso of a human atop the body of a horse, and his eyes were as blue as the morning sky as he studied her pensively from across the barn. This, Delores decided, must be the king, Yuuma's father – he was every bit as exquisite as his son, in a fatherly, Santa Claus sort of way.

The shorter of the two resembled Yuuma in that he had the face of a human, and the neck and body of a horse – a reddish horse, with hair as red as wine that is red, and eyes as blue and cold as ice. They too were trained on Delores as she and her Prince walked towards the raised dias.

"My son, Prince Yuuma," the white-haired centaur boomed, and Delores fell to her knees. Her cat took up position before her, hissing and arching his back protectively before she gathered him into her arms once more, holding him close to her chest out of fear that he might be stepped on by a pair of wandering hooves. "What is this thing that you have brought before me?"

Delores shook with fear, but managed to rise to her feet. Yuuma wrapped a horse arm/leg (?) around her prone form, pressing her trembling body close to his warm, muscular side.

"I was out on the midnight patrol with Dark Molasses and Lukewarm Vegemite when I heard a cry for help, your Majesty," Yuuma whinnied respectfully, but there was a challenging air to his cordial tone. "I found this human girl – a Princess, in her own right – and her cat in the Field of Unresolved Spats. We got to her just in time, for on the way here, we heard many a werewolf howling in the distance. They would certainly have eaten her if we'd have left her there."

"Do I look like I care?" The King scoffed, snorting and tossing his ivory mane dismissively. "You need to stop bringing homeless people and their animals into our camp. It's getting annoying."

"Permission to speak, Father?" The reddish horse with the human face and sharp blue eyes spoke.

"Permission granted, Prince Ryouma," the King sighed, massaging his forehead. From his behaviour, it was readily apparent that Prince Yuuma brought extradites into their camp quite often – perhaps too often.

"Brother," Ryouma began, emboldened after gaining his father's permission to speak. "Like Father said, you can't just bring homeless people, no matter how cute and adorable they are, into our camp. One of these days, the werewolves will catch on to your weak-hearted habits and send a spy into our midst."

"Delores is not a spy," Yuuma all but growled. "And she is not like the others. She is not merely some girl lost in the Forbidden Forest, she is a true disciple of Harambe, and she needs our help."

The barn suddenly erupted into noise. Centaurs whispered to one another, whinnied, and stamped their hooves on the carpeted floor.

The king's booming voice rose above the din. "SILENCE!"

The barn once again descended into dead-quiet, all looking towards their ruler, who looked pleased with himself for having shut them up so quickly. He cleared his throat. "No offense, son, but I've never met a human – or cat, for that matter – who served the One True Furry Lord."

"But she _does_ serve, Father!" Yuuma's emerald-green eyes sparkled, and he swiveled his horse head to look at Delores, who was still cowering at his side. "Tell them, my sweet horse Princess. Introduce yourself, and tell them what you told me."

Yuuma gave her a gentle, encouraging nudge with his hoof, and Delores found herself at the foot of the dais. The king and his favoured son towered over her, raising their eyebrows skeptically. She cleared her throat. "Hem-hem... My name is Delores, and this is Mr. Cuddlesworth, my cat and protector. I've never met a werewolf in my life – although, I do have a vampire friend, but she's quite harmless, I assure you – and I live to serve Harambe, our Lord and Saviour... your Majesty," she added as an afterthought.

She could feel the gazes of multitudes of centaurs boring into her as she continued. "Harambe guides me in all that I do, and I believe that he brought me here tonight to seek aid from you and your... people. My friend, a fellow disciple, and one whom I love more than the colour pink, has been kidnapped by an evil man with no nose." Delores's throat burned with the threat of tears unshed as she waited for the centaur king to reply.

"I've seen into her heart, Father," Yuuma interjected quietly, stepping forward until he stood at her side. "She is a true disciple of Harambe, as we are, and her intentions are pure. She doesn't seek to spy on us. You must believe her."

The king was silent for a long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long, long time; so silent that the quiet sound of one of the centaur guards passing gas could easily be heard, though the king chose to ignore the mild offense when he finally chose to speak.

"A human, believing in Harambe..." He said, almost to himself. "I can hardly believe it... Has His Truth truly spread so far that even simple humans can know of His splendour...?"

Delores cleared her throat again. A surge of confidence entered her pink-clad body, now that the subject had changed over to something she knew well. "Hem-hem – yes, your Majesty. Harambe's Truth guides us humans, as well. In fact, my friend who was kidnapped by that evil apikores with no nose taught me all that I know about Harambism."

Her eyes began to brim over with tears and her voice cracked as she remembered that night under the Whomping Willow sapling, where Tom had opened her third eye and revealed an entirely new world to her that she hadn't known existed, a world of Gorilla Values. "I seek your aid only to rescue Tom. If you won't help me for my sake, then please help me for his – his greatest wish is to spread Harambism to us humans, and to enlighten us all with Harambe's love."

The king was quiet for another moment, though thankfully, this one was far shorter than the last awkward pause, and seemed to be taking in her holy claims.

Suddenly, a harsh, barking laugh rang out amid the quiet. Ryouma was tossing his reddish horse neck, chortling obnoxiously, as if he had a terrible pun to release from his human mouth and set loose into the world, where it was neither expected nor wanted. "You believe this crap?" He snickered, earning him a few confused stares.

"Crap?" Delores clenched her fists. " _Crap_? Harambe Himself told me to come searching for Tom, and you dare question your Creator? I should tell Harambe on you, you... you..."

As Delores was desperately searching her vocabulary for an appropriate insult, the room erupted into chaos, and then utter silence once more, as an ethereal, black, furry image appeared behind Delores: the visage of Harambe, towering over her – towering over _them all_ , surrounded by a halo of light and redemption. His commanding force showed all that were present just who was right, and who was wrong, in the given situation. The onlookers watched as the image of Harambe set a furry hand on Delores's shoulder, signifying his support for the pink-clad creature.

"Oh my Harambe," the king whispered, bending his horse legs in a deep, respectful bow. The rest of the gathered centaurs did the same, until Delores was the only one standing – besides for Ryouma, who was the last to kneel, and boy, did he look unhappy about it.

 _Serve my daughter kindly,_ Harambe spoke in a sultry, deep voice that resonated around the barn and shook the forest to its roots, a voice that could smooth even the toughest leather to the consistency of silk and velvet, reverberating through every branch, every sprout, and every leaf of every tree in the Forbidden Forest. _And I will rain down blessings upon you and your kingdom. Help her find her friend, and aid her in any way she requests. Thus saith Harambe. Say amen, and it will be my Will._

A low "Amen" rumbled through the crowd, and the image of Harambe began to fade away. The centaurs all rose to their hooves, save the king, who appeared as though he'd entered a trance from which many never awaken, after having seen their Creator up close.

(Oh, wait - nevermind, he's going to snap out of it in 3, 2, 1...)

"We will help you, daughter of Harambe, Princess Delores," the king finally spoke in an undertone, rising slowly to his hooves. "Guards, please take Princess Delores and her warder cat and escort them safely to the dining hall. Tonight, they will feast on a nice, hearty meal of green onions!"

At the mention of food, Delores's stomach began to grumble, once again reminding her of her overpowering hunger, which she'd forgotten all about in the aftermath of her rescue. All she'd had to eat that night was a granola bar, and even that she'd shared with her cat.

"If I may, Father," Ryouma interjected, having seemingly recovered from his embarrassment at having been literally proven wrong by Harambe Himself. "I will escort Princess Delores to dinner."

"No, you will not," Yuuma snorted, waving his horse tail in a threatening manner, if such a thing were possible. " _I_ will be the one to escort Princess Delores to dinner. You will come nowhere near her, Ryouma."

Ryouma gave his brother a poisonous glare as his father nodded. "It is only appropriate for the Princess to be delivered to dinner by you, Yuuma, since you rescued her," the king agreed. "It is decided, then: Prince Yuuma will escort Princess Delores to dinner, and Prince Ryouma, since you are so desperate to redeem yourself to our guest – you will escort her to breakfast tomorrow morning."

Yuuma gave his father a sharp look, opening his mouth to object, but Ryouma was too quick. "Of course, Father!" He grovelled, smiling toothily. "It would be my pleasure."

"Good," the king whinnied in response. "Tomorrow, after breakfast, we ride to Tom's rescue!" He rose on his hind legs and pawed at the air majestically. The surrounding centaurs began to cheer, excited at the prospect of a Hunt of Harambe, a hunt which had not been held in generations.

Despite the heroic, beautiful scene before her, Delores shivered. The way Ryouma looked at her from behind his father was almost hungry, like she was a bowl of boxed macaroni and cheese, and he made her uncomfortable in ways she could not even begin to describe, even if she were given the time and the means to do so.

The two vaguely grotesque horse brothers with the faces of gorgeous anime men glared at one another one last time before Yuuma bowed low to his father, backing away from the dais upon which stood his father and brother. Delores curtsied as best she could while wearing pink camo pants – the ones with all the pockets for gadgets and tchotchkes, y'know. She and her horse Prince exited the barn butt-first out of respect, waiting until the barn doors closed behind them to turn around and face frontwards.

Yuuma led Delores and her cat towards the dining hall, where he claimed there would be a grand dinner of green onions and green onions waiting for her and her cat to consume. Despite her gratefulness that the centaurs would be willing to help her locate her lost love, Delores couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that someone was following them.

Turning around for a split second, she thought she spotted a vaguely horse-shaped shadow, but just as soon as she saw it, it vanished into the night.

The hairs on her arms, which she'd dyed pink the day before in preparation for the Winter Ball, stood on end as she turned back around, drawing closer to her horse Prince for protection. Deciding she must be imagining things, Delores focused on her growling stomach. Her hunger must be making her see things, she decided, shaking her head to clear it.


	14. Riddle Me This

A/N: Speshil fangz 2 KrimsUn 4 ha;lpin me wif da sorty n speeling if dis story. If u giv me bak my vlodemrt t shrit i wil incl;ud u in dis story!~! if not then u will just hav 2 deal w only bein in authorsnotyes! U don't want 2 mak me upset. U just do nOT. i wil END U. But ya., anyweyz, LUV YA BICH!111! XDDD

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Riddle Me This, Riddle Me Those: Just Who Is This Prep With No Nose?**

* * *

Tom startled awake with a strangled gasp, gorgeous green eyes flying open as a blood-curdling howl sounded from someplace nearby. He reached into his pocket in a frenzy to find the familiar and comforting weight of his wand, only to find it empty.

"Harambe damn it," Tom swore. So it wasn't just a terrible dream: he really had been kidnapped. His captors must have confiscated his wand. Last he remembered, he was dancing to Evanescence with Delores at the Winter Ball, when a man with black robes and no nose attacked and knocked him out.

Tom took the time to thoroughly inspect his prison – if one could truly describe it as such. It was unlike any prison Tom could ever imagine, for it wasn't a prison at all. Rather, it was a spacious sitting room, complete with fully-stocked dark wooden bookcases, an ornate fireplace, and very comfortable sofas. Tom knew that these sofas were comfortable because he was lying on one – a glaringly green, though exceedingly comfy, piece of furniture embroidered with hundreds of tiny snakes. Each embroidered snek was inset with a tiny googly eye that jiggled as Tom shifted into an upright position and left the couch to take a look at the fireplace.

The fluffy green carpet's fronds parted like the Green Sea under Tom's exquisitely-shod feet as he approached the fireplace. Bending down to glance up the chimney shaft, Tom's shoulders fell in disappointment as he noted the small dimensions: climbing up the chimney was out of the question, then. He'd surely get stuck and die, because of his exquisite, manly shoulders. They were as broad as, if not broader than, a mighty gorilla's – it was an attribute of his that Tom regarded with great pride.

"Harambe damn it," he repeated, rising and slamming his fist down on the mantle, causing several snake-shaped artifacts to shake from the strength of his blow.

"What is it with kids these days and the incessant swearing?" said a voice like rock-salt and sandpaper, causing Tom to whip his head around in surprise.

The speaker – the man with no nose – sat draped over a large green armchair, and Tom wondered how he didn't notice the man before. His tattered black cloak was gone, replaced by a fuzzy black robe with silver snake embroidery around the collar and cuffs. His skinny white ankles were nearly obscured by his huge snake slippers. As the man rose and began walking towards Tom, the slippers hissed, and their eyes lit up bright yellow. He moved fluidly, like liquid shadow on a polished marble floor. The man's smile was straight out of an anti-smoking ad.

Tom held back a shiver. "You," he growled aggressively, wishing he had his wand, so he could blow this prep to oblivion and get back to school – and Delores. He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest like he'd once seen an adult gorilla do, in hopes to intimidate his captor.

Deep down, despite his brave facade, Tom had never felt so afraid in his life. What would his Slytherin squad think of him if they knew he could barely keep his succulent baritone voice from trembling? What would they say when he told them he allowed his kidnappers to disarm him, and that he didn't immediately tackle his captor and engage him in a boxing match? Tom cared a lot about what other people thought of him. What would they think of him now, if they knew he was a coward and a loser?

More importantly, what would Delores think?

Tom tensed his jaw.

"Me," the man with no nose drawled. "How was your sleep, Tom?"

"How do you know my name?" Tom demanded.

"I already told you." The white man sounded miffed. "I'm you, Tom. I'm Tom Marvalo Riddle."

"No, _I'm_ Tom Marvalo Riddle."

"Yes, _you're_ Tom Marvalo Riddle. I am _also_ Tom Marvalo Riddle. You needn't be so afraid of me – if what I say is true, I cannot hurt you, because I'd only be hurting myself."

Tom thought about what the man had said earlier. "At the Ball, you said that you were me," he said slowly, "how is that possible?"

"I'm you from the future, Tom - _obviously_. Can't you see the resemblance?"

Tom could not. "That's impossible! You're ugly, and I am a gorgeous specimen. You have no hair, and I have hair. You have no nose, and I have a nose. You can't possibly be me. And besides, Time Travel is illegal."

No-nosed Tom massaged his chalky temples and sighed deeply. "Was I always this rude?" he muttered as if to himself.

Tom grew annoyed. "Hey," he sassed, "I can hear you, you know. Now, tell me where I am, and let me go, you prep, or I will make you wish you'd never been born!"

"That would be unfortunate," the man pointed out, "because if I am telling the truth, and I am truly you from the future, if I had never been born, neither would you."

"You aren't me, get over yourself," Tom replied hotly. "Identity theft isn't cool, you know, and you can drop the emo act."

"Listen, I didn't come back in time to argue with you about identity theft and emoness. I came back here to warn you of impending doom that you have the power to stop. You can save lives, if only you would listen to me! Now, sit down."

Tom made a show of crossing his arms, harrumphing loudly for extra effect. "Go on," he said, sitting back down on the green googly eye sofa.

The man with no nose walked back over to his armchair and plopped himself down onto it. A glass of white wine sat on a nearby table. "Join me for a glass of wine," he said.

Tom started in surprise as there was suddenly a wineglass in his hands. "Sorry, but I'm waiting until marriage to drink."

"Oh, right. I forgot." The man said before taking a long draft of his wine. He smacked his dry lips together disgustingly. "Ah... delicious. Now, as I was saying, my name is Tom Marvalo Riddle, but you can call me Voldemort. Everyone else does. I traveled back in time to speak with you because I have an important message to share with you and you alone. Any questions so far?"

"Yes," Tom replied, "what happened to your hair?"

"Oh, that. You can blame a little brat named Harry Potter for my baldness. Do you have any other questions that don't pertain to my unfortunate – though still devilishly handsome - appearance?"

Tom, who was about to ask about Voldemort's lack of nose, shut his mouth.

"If all you are going to do is insult me, I'll get on with my Voldemessage," Voldemort said testily. "Tom, I brought you here to my pocket dimension lair because I have an extremely important message to deliver to you: you need to break up with Delores Jane Umbridge, and forget all about her."

"What?!" Tom was aghast. "Not a chance in Hell! Do you know how hard it is to find a girl who doesn't just like you for your handsome face? Delores is my Soulmate!"

"Hey, she was my Soulmate too!" Voldemort replied hotly. "Honestly, you've only just begun to date, if my Time Turner calculations were correct – you don't even know her yet! You must listen to me – there is much at stake if you two remain together!"

Tom's heart pounded in his ears as he grew more and more angry. "Like what? My domestic bliss? You aren't my dad, you can't tell me who I can and cannot date."

"I already told you who I am, you insolent child!" Voldemort bellowed, squeezing his wineglass so hard that it shattered, raining glass shards down onto the carpet. A werewolf dressed in a dapper purple suit and tie materialized as if from nowhere to replace it. "You will listen to me, Tom! I may not be your father, but I know more about you and your future than you do! _Silencio!_ "

Tom tried to speak, to argue, but found that his vocal chords had simply ceased to function. Dismayed, he looked at Voldemort, who held a wand – _Tom's_ wand – with a pleased smile on his chalky face.

 _He Silencioed me!_ Tom thought, enraged. He communicated his feelings in the only way he knew how: the Gothic Way. He stuck his middle fingers up at him.

Tom recoiled in utter shock as Voldemort simply returned the gesture. Nobody had ever stuck their middle fingers up at him before.

"Finally, some gosh darn peace and quiet!" Voldemort cried out, tucking Tom's wand into his robe pocket. "Be grateful that I didn't _Crucio_ you, you arrogant whelp. Because I am kind, I will continue to explain why you must break up with your girlfriend, but I must remain cryptic: if I tell you outright, I'll ruin the plot of this piece, so let's just say that the future holds dark, depressing things for you two if you maintain your intimate relationship with Delores Umbridge."

Tom's exquisitely-shaped, Instagram-worthy eyebrows furrowed. Why would Voldemort – who he had begrudgingly begun to accept was in fact _him_ from the future – how else was he able to use Tom's wand so easily? - want him to break up with Delores? It all made very little sense to him, unless Voldemort was indeed telling the truth. Perhaps he knew something that Tom didn't – that something terrible would happen to them if they remained a couple.

Doubts continued to race around Tom's mind as Voldemort started speaking again. "I know it'll break your little black heart, but you'll see. One day, you'll be grateful that I stepped back in time and prevented you from ever marrying that wretch."

Tom tightened his hands into fists. He had never met a young woman quite like Delores before, and he could safely say that he loved her truly, and with all his heart. She was the only one who understood him on a deeply personal level: she shared his Harambian values, and looked past his painfully attractive, exquisite, manly exterior to glimpse the man behind the mask that no one else took the time to get to know. He wasn't just going to dump her because his future self demanded it from him.

Voldemort seemed to catch on to Tom's train of thought. "Young man, you listen to me! You _need_ to break up with Delores! This is important not only for you, but for _her_ – especially for her. You can't imagine the pain we've been through by just simply loving one another. You must end this – end our pain, end our suffering."

Tom was taken aback by Voldemort's sudden display of emotion. _I don't understand_ , he mouthed pathetically.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand: you're young. When I was your age, I thought I was unstoppable, too." Voldemort laughed – a grating, barking sound that held no life, nor joy; it was a cold sort of laughter that sent a shiver up Tom's spine. "As you can clearly see, I am extremely dark, gothic, and depressed. I obviously have a terrible and foreboding back-story that troubles me to this very day, else I wouldn't be the antagonist of this fan-fiction. I can't flat-out tell you why you need to do this, because that would ruin the story – I mean, the timeline. Yes, the timeline. I must be mysterious, you see – it has nothing to do with my aesthetic, or anything."

Tom waited in silence, afraid to even think until Voldemort had finished his extremely emotional, exquisitely extra, and incredibly dramatic Villain Monologue. Despite his better judgement and morals, he took a swig of his wine; the gravity of his current dilemma certainly called for it.

Voldemort continued. "Delores and I were lovers once – the perfect lovers. You are only just beginning to experience that perfect love. We thought we were invincible." His snakelike eyes misted over. "However, our love could not protect us from everything."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, finally finding his voice. "What do we need protection from?"

Voldemort did not reply. In fact, it did not appear as though he were even listening anymore to the proceedings of their conversation. He appeared lost – in his own mind, in his own memories.

Waves of anxiety lapped at Tom's mind, and his heart pounded to the beat of an unseen drum, an unfamiliar rhythm that filled him with dread. He felt a sort of morbid, perverted curiosity arise in his throat, begging the question: what would happen to him and Delores if they stayed together?

One look into Voldemort's distant, empty eyes told Tom that he may not be ready for the answer. Nonetheless, he hungered for the answer like a sinner hungers for salvation. He began to feel a deep sense of pity for this broken husk of a man, replacing his bitter contempt for his captor. _What happened to him that made him this way?_ He thought.

 _What is going to happen to **me?**_


	15. A Brother's Betrayal

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Tzipopo, who made a brilliant guess and earned herself another chapter of this eldritch horror.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: A Brother's Betrayal**

* * *

The night came and went, and before Delores knew it, she awoke from a dreamless sleep in a bed of hay more comfortable than sin. Stretching like a cat, she yawned and blinked blearily through the sunspots dancing before her eyes.

She was in a guest horse stall in Thessaly Ranch. The previous night had been overwhelming, to say the least: first, her boyfriend was kidnapped, and she tracked him to an empty clearing in the Forbidden Forest. After being rescued from a potential werewolf attack by exquisite centaurs, she convinced them to help her find her beau. Today, a group of centaurs would begin the search for Tom Riddle and the pocket dimension he was hidden in.

Mr. Cuddlesworth meowed impatiently. Delores assumed he wanted breakfast.

"Give me a second, I just woke up!" She exclaimed, rubbing her tired eyes.

Her cat meowed again, more urgently this time.

"I told you, give me a—"

"Good morning, princess," the succulent voice of Ryouma sounded. His crimson horse neck and pallid human face hung over the wooden gate of her stall. Delores felt naked under his icy stare. "How was your sleep, my dear?"

"I am not your dear," Delores replied, "and my sleep was fine." How long had he been standing there?

"I am to escort you to breakfast," Ryouma continued, flipping his red emo fringe.

Delores cleared her throat. " _Hem-hem_. My prince, I appreciate the wake up call, but I must ask you to leave. I'll meet you outside, and then we can go to breakfast together."

The horse prince shrugged, a grotesque motion due to his horse body and human head, and trotted out of the barn, leaving Delores alone. She shivered and let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. What was with that guy? He and Yuuma were nothing alike, though they were apparently related. Though equally intense, Yuuma was polite and gentlemanly, while Ryouma was skulking and creepy.

 _Oh well_ , she thought to herself. _If they can help me find my one true love Tom, I suppose I can deal with Ryouma for the time being._

After getting dressed in her pink combat gear, Delores left the barn, with Mr. Cuddlesworth at her heels. Ryouma was waiting outside.

"You look absolutely ravishing today, princess," Ryouma said smoothly, making Delores's skin crawl. "Except..."

Delores froze as his human head drew nearer and nearer to her face. She couldn't help but close her eyes tightly as he approached. She opened her eyes a moment later once she couldn't feel his breath on her head anymore, heart pounding in her chest. He had thankfully withdrawn, a piece of straw in his mouth. He spat it out onto the ground.

"There was straw in your hair," Ryouma explained. But somehow, his explanation did not rid Delores of the uneasy feeling he gave her.

Delores kept quiet over breakfast, choosing to focus on her large plate of green onions. Ryouma talked about himself the entire time. Mr. Cuddlesworth stayed at her side the entire time, glaring at the horse prince.

After her unnerving breakfast, Delores was led to the great barn, where a bustling band of centaurs milled about. The centaurs with human torsos carried spears or long bows with quivers strapped to their backs so as not to impede their horse legs. She spotted Dark Molasses and Lukewarm Vegemite in their chiseled glories, and they nodded and smiled at her. She smiled in return, glad that they were there. Ryouma would never try anything in a crowd like this.

Her eyes roved around the barn, but she could not see Yuuma. Deciding to face her fear, she spoke to Ryouma. " _Hem-hem_. Where is Prince Yuuma?"

"Uhhh," Ryouma uhhh'ed, evidently not expecting the question. He scowled. "I don't know. Maybe he's sleeping in. He's always been the lesser prince, you see – so lazy." He chuckled, an evil chuckle that Delores recognized. Although the head of Slytherin house was Mrs. Norris, the co-head was a woman named Bernice LeWeird. She had a similar laugh. Bernice LeWeird often blackmailed students into letting Slytherin win the House Cup, and would fail any student who wasn't in Slytherin whenever she felt like it. Delores admired her for her gumption, but was not a fan of her laugh. She wasn't a fan of Ryouma's laugh either.

"Oh," Delores replied, trying not to reveal her fear. "Well, I'm sure he'll show up before we leave."

Yuuma did not show his devilishly handsome face, nor his grotesque chestnut horse body, before they left. In fact, he didn't show up even as they approached the gates of Thessaly Ranch. Ryouma was smiling smugly as the group left the ranch and entered t he woods, and Delores could not discern why. She was forced to ride on Ryouma, because Yuuma was absent.

"I guess he decided not to come after all," Ryouma said happily. "Come on, guys. Let's go."

"My prince, we should wait for Prince Yuuma before proceeding," Dark Molasses, or maybe it was Lukewarm Vegemite, said. He flexed his pectoral muscles, and his abs rippled tempestuously like a swath of golden silk in the summer breeze. "He's the leader of this squadron."

"I guess that makes me the squadron leader now," Ryouma exclaimed in mock surprise. He shouldered his way to the front of the part, jostling Delores, who fell off of his muscular back and into the dirt. She screamed as she fell, and Mr. Cuddlesworth yowled angrily at the horse prince who had dropped her. Ryouma looked back at her disdainfully. "Sorry, princess," he sneered. "I didn't mean to drop you. Come here."

Delores glared at him, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. Lukewarm Vegemite, or maybe it was Dark Molasses, bent down and offered her his human arm to lift her to her feet. "No thank you. I'd rather walk."

"No, you won't. Come here," Ryouma ordered. Delores felt cold, suddenly getting the feeling that this was a dangerous centaur to cross, and she had just crossed him.

"She will not," the voice of Yuuma rang out among the trees. His sharp chin slices through a barrage of leaves and braches. Sweat gleamed on his chestnut flank, and he flipped his hair, flashing his gorgeous emerald eyes. "Get away from her, you traitor."

"Traitor?" Ryouma sputtered. His eyes flitted from his brother to Dark Molasses, Lukewarm Vegemite, and the other centaurs who had accompanied them. "I'm no traitor. I thought you weren't coming, so I took the lead. That doesn't make me a traitor."

"No. What does make you a traitor is putting drugs in my green onions last night so I would sleep through the party leaving home," Yuuma snapped. "You didn't want me to go because you want to keep Delores for yourself. She belongs to no horse! And now, neither do you – you are hereby exiled from Thessaly Ranch, by order of our father!"

Ryouma gawked as the centaurs around him drew their weapons. He pawed at the ground in fear. "Please, don't kill me, brother," he snivelled. "I never meant to do any harm. I just wanted to lead the mission and prove myself to father!"

"You would deliver Delores into the hands of our enemies," Yuuma stated coldly. "Scorching Marmalade, Hot Jam– see to it that he leaves these lands and never returns."

Two centaurs, whom Delores now knew the names of, strong armed Ryouma through the bushes and further into the woods. The crimson horse prince howled and scrame as the reality of his predicament finally set in. It took several long minutes for his yelling to be far enough away that it could not be heard any longer.

Yuuma bent his head to look Delores in the eyes. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she replied. "I fell off of his back, but that's it. I'll be okay." She was unable to suppress a blush at the anxiety for her that he had in his emerald eyes. "Thank you for saving me. He's been acting creepy all day."

"I knew he was up to something the instant he offered to take you to breakfast," the chestnut horse prince sighed. "He's always up to something. Now, he'll never be up to anything again. Climb on my back. I won't drop you like he did." There was a softness in his voice that ran alongside the humour of his statement.

Delores climbed aboard, comforted by Yuuma's stable weight underneath her. She trusted that he wouldn't drop her. Mr. Cuddlesworth leaped into her arms and climbed onto her shoulder, where he perched like a parrot.

"We cannot wait for Scorching Marmalade and Hot Jam, we must continue and wait for them to catch up," Yuuma said in a princely fashion. "They know where we are headed. We must make haste!"

"Where exactly are we headed?" Delores asked as Yuuma and his remaining charge began trotting along an invisible trail. Delores could see no sense to their movements.

"Wirkmood," the horse prince whinnied. "The elves will aid us in our quest. We centaurs have not the magic to locate a pocket dimension, but the elves do. They are led by a mighty and powerful king; a lord among elves. He too knows Harambe, and will undoubtedly help us rescue your Tom."

"Thank you," Delores breathed, so grateful to have found such kind and gracious allies. She would never forget Prince Yuuma's kindness, nor his exquisite facial features... where had that come from? She wondered. Tom was waiting to be rescued. There was no time for marveling at handsome horse men.

Delores held on tightly to Yuuma's mane as he hastened to a gallop. The group of centaurs rode through the woods at a breakneck pace, not pausing to rest at any point. Despite this, somehow, Scorching Marmalade and Hot Jam joined them mid-ride. Delores's head swam with activity. _It's finally happening,_ she thought. _She was going to save Tom!_

The centaurs slowed to a trot as the trees began to thicken, blocking out the sun. Although it was mid-Winter, the trees grew thick and clumped here, preventing even the bitter wind from permeating the seemingly endless wood. Despite adequate undergrowth, no sounds could be heard but the gurgling of a freezing stream and the croak of a lone toad. The centaurs carefully picked their way over a large log laid over the river before Yuuma flicked his mane, stopping them in their tracks. Delores listened, but could hear nothing. She eyed her surroundings, but could see nothing but trees and mushrooms. She sniffed, but could smell nothing but dankness.

"We have entered Wirkmood, domain of the woodland elves," Yuuma said quietly. "And we are not alone."


	16. A Kingdom of Fireflies

**Chapter 16:** _A Kingdom of Fireflies and Starlight_

* * *

Delores held her breath, listening, watching, but the forest betrayed no indication that there was anyone lurking among the brush. Only then did she notice how deathly silent it was; _unnaturally_ so. The very forest seemed to hold its breath, fraught with cold anticipation.

"Hail, elves of Wirkmood!" Yuuma cried.

His deep baritone rang out among the cloying trees, breaking through the silent spell which lay upon the dark woods. The river resumed its gurgling song, the toads continued croaking, and the ancient trees sighed in relief as the forest began to breathe once more.

Then came the sudden rustle of leaves and the snapping of branches, and Delores and her group of centaurs found themselves surrounded on all sides by elves. They were not dissimilar to the house elves Delores was accustomed to seeing around Hogwarts, rising no taller than two feet, with large, pointed ears. Whereas house elves were forbidden to wear human clothing, the elves of Wirkmood wore fine clothing: forest green tunics, some hooded, and shiny leather armour.

Delores couldn't help but smile as she noticed that their sleeves were too long for their arms, but her mirth quickly transformed into sombreness when her eyes spotted the shiny wooden bows, bowstrings pulled taught, and arrows trained on Delores and her friends. Her heart fell. No, these were not like the house elves she had lived with for six years. These elves were independent, and far more dangerous.

Yuuma pawed at the ground, betraying his unease. "Peace, friend, and Harambe be with you," he spoke, and his voice did not waver. He directed his statement to an elf wearing a silver sash across his chest. He looked important. "I am prince Yuuma of Thessaly Ranch. With me are my personal unit of Temperate Spreads, and my dear friends Delores and Mr. Cuddlesworth. We have come on behalf of the centaur king to speak with the lord of the Wirkmood."

The elf lowered his bow. His right ear twitched, signalling for his companions to lay down their arms. "Harambe be with you, Prince Yuuma. Forgive us for welcoming you in such a hostile manner, your highness: foul beasts roam our lands. Werewolves, vampires and the like. One can never be too careful."

 _Vampires_. Delores thought of her gothic best friend, Ebony, who was a vampire. She wondered how she was coping with Delores's absence. She hoped she wasn't too worried about her.

"What do they call you?" Asked Yuuma.

"Dibby, your highness."

"All is forgiven, Dibby. Now, I bid you to take us to your master. We have business with him."

"Of course," Dibby replied with a brief dip of his head.

As he raised his head, Delores caught his eyes. Sharp and mistrustful, they sought to delve into her mind and seek out her motives. Although Dibby appeared to respect Yuuma, it was evident that he did not yet trust Delores, a human. She wondered if it had anything to do with humans employing house elves to do their dirty work around the home.

The forest beyond the fallen tree bridge was darker, more foreboding, and cloying. The very air was suffocating. Delores's head swam. She could swear that she saw shadows darting between the tightly packed net of trees flanking the winding path that Dibby was leading them down. Whispers seemed to wreathe around the weary travelers, following them, just out of earshot, evaporating like mist in the sunshine the instant one listened closer to discern their words.

She soon lost track of all time, and pet Mr. Cuddlesworth, whose fur stood on end. It was difficult to discern whether she was petting him to calm him, or herself.

As they walked, slowly, steadily, as if in a dream, Yuuma and Dibby spoke in hushed voices. Delores, sitting upon Yuuma's mighty back, strained to hear, concentrating on their words to pass the time, and to distract her from the terrifying shadows at the edges of her vision, and the unsettling whispers.

"What brings you and your company to our land?" Dibby asked the horse prince.

"We come to seek aid from Elf Lord," Yuuma answered. "My friend Delores came to Thessaly Ranch to report the kidnapping of her friend, who is a fellow Harambe worshipper. He was taken by a mysterious villain with no nose."

Delores winced at the word 'friend.' She had lied to Yuuma about her relationship with Tom when he asked her to explain her situation. Why had she lied?

"Can your scouts not find this no-nosed man?"

"You mistake me, Dibby." Yuuma chuckled. "We wish to request _magical_ aid. Your lord is old, wise, and powerful. He can undo the evil spells which keep this villain hidden from our eyes."

"Ah," Dibby said. His large ears twitched.

Delores was surprised when he turned to address her. "I suppose that is what brings you here, Miss Delores. Rescuing your friend."

"Yes. His name is Tom, and he is the most spiritual man I know. His belief in Harambe is unshakable. He was the one who taught me Gorilla Values not two days ago now." Her words burned in the back of her throat, and she swallowed, fighting back tears. She would not cry, not here, not now.

Dibby turned away, saying no more. The traveling troupe of assorted species had reached a wall of trees packed so tightly there were no gaps between each one. A magnificent wooden door that shone like silver loomed before them, far taller than the elves, taller even than the centaurs. The door, decorated with delicate designs of silver leaves, looked as strong as steel.

Dibby raised his hand and knocked, an intricate pattern which Delores soon lost track of. Not long after the last knock fell, the great door opened, silently, smoothly.

 _Nearly as smooth as Tom's succulent, buttery voice_ , Delores thought. Thinking of Tom made her heart ache. She craved the safety of his embrace.

Delores steeled herself before tears could once again threaten to fall. She must be strong for Tom. She would be back in his arms soon enough.

Dibby led the procession into the hidden forest kingdom of Wirkmood. Towering trees surrounded them on all sides. Stairs were built into the great trees, and houses were hidden among the branches and canopies of dark leaves. It was a bustling elven city of wood, moss, and natural and unnatural light: garlands of ethereal white lights resembling stars stretched from tree to tree, lighting their path, and fireflies flitted this way and that, further lighting up the dark corners of the forest kingdom.

A firefly landed on Mr. Cuddlesworth's nose. He stared at it for several seconds before sneezing, scaring the insect away. Delores burst into laughter, such as she hadn't done since Tom had disappeared. She was as surprised to hear the sound as her cat, who was inwardly pleased to hear his master so amused after undergoing such sadness.

A massive sequoia tree stood in the centre of Wirkmood, protecting the elven city with its vast, thick foliage, and before it stood the statue of a tall elf, carved from white marble and black onyx. Its arms were outstretched in a gesture of welcome. Unfortunately the statue was too far away to discern further detail.

The group saw more and more elven guards flanking the trail to the giant tree, each more decadent than the last, clothed in silver armour fashioned in the likeness of leaves, with glittering cloaks and spears. Each elven guard stared blankly and determinedly ahead, not acknowledging the presence of the centaurs, human, and cat as they passed.

Delores started in surprise. The statue she had seen earlier was not a statue at all! Now that they had drawn close to the great tree, her eyes fell upon the glorious, exquisite figure of an elf unlike any she had seen before. She did not blame herself for mistaking him for a statue: he was over seven feet tall and white as porcelain. His bulging muscles strained against the confines of the shiny black leather breastplate, adorned with hundreds of tiny thorns, spread across his enormously swole chest. He wore a magnificent cloak of leaves in a perpetual state of autumn, though Delores knew it to be midwinter: crimson, orange, red, auburn, and yellow, dancing before her eyes like flames. His cheekbones were sheer cliffs, shorn as if from white stone. His pursed lips were pink and luscious. A silver circlet sat upon his head, contrasting sharply with the raven of his hair, a shade of black so deep it was nearly purple, drawn back from a dignified widow's peak and fastened into a practical high ponytail which cascaded down his immense, muscular back and shoulders like a river of ebony, shimmering in the dancing light of the fireflies.

"Elf Lord, Lord of Elves," Dibby announced, bowing low to the ground. Yuuma and the Temperate Spreads bowed their heads, and Delores tried to bow from her seat. She found that she could not look away from Elf Lord and his ageless, exquisite beauty. He was absolutely mesmerising.

Elf Lord's huge, muscular arms moved, and he gestured for Dibby to rise. His luscious lips parted in a gentle smile. "Harambe bless, and well met, my friends." His voice was strong as a thunderclap, sweet and slick as honey, gritty as gravel, mysterious as an eclipse and clear as the morning.

"Harambe bless," Yuuma echoed.

Delores opened her mouth to repeat the phrase, but found that her voice was gone. She was lost in Elf Lord's beautiful, exquisite eyes. They held such sorrow, such pain. Stories of love lost. The whites of his eyes were pink as roses, accentuating the colour of his irises: Red. Red as blood.

He was beautiful and terrible, and Delores could not keep herself seated on Yuuma's back. The world spun around her, and the last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her whole was skin of pale moonlight, flowing raven hair, and crimson eyes.


	17. Dancing With the Devil

**Chapter 17: Dancing With the Devil**

* * *

 _Delores was dancing._

 _Tom's left hand was on her hip. His right hand was holding hers'. He lead the dance, and the couple swept across a floor of pale pink marble. The warmth and light of Harambe was upon them._

 _Delores closed her eyes, resting her head against Tom's shoulder. She sighed. He hummed softly along to the music. The sound vibrated throughout her entire body and made her bones sing: he was a practiced musician, and she a harp._

" _I love you," she whispered into his pink suit. She lifted her head to gaze upon his handsome, slender face. His luscious lips parted, and he smiled, showing off his dazzlingly white teeth. His mesmerising, intangibly-coloured eyes were adoring. His dark hair was parted neatly down the middle, shining in the light of the floating candles high above their heads._

" _My Delores," he spoke, and his succulent, buttery tones made her heart sigh and flutter like a caged sparrow. "How I have missed you. I have thought of nothing but you since I was stolen away. How I wished to be back in your arms, debating Harambism and discussing philosophy. You titillate my mind and soften my heart like no other."_

 _Delores's spirit soared with delight as he leaned in and kissed her. Her eyes fluttered open. She opened her mouth to scream, but found her throat constricted, her tongue frozen._

 _Her eyes widened with terror as she watched his face begin to change. His cheeks became gaunt, skin growing ever whiter, until he was the colour of parchment. The flesh of his nose disintegrated, leaving only two slits, like a snake. His hair fell out in clumps, drifting down onto the marble floor. Before her stood the visage of the man who had stolen Tom away from her, and with him, her heart._

 _Delores was afraid._

 _She fought to wrench her hand from his grip, but found that it had tightened into a vise. She was trapped. Tears ran down her cheeks. She could feel them, hot and wet against her skin. He smiled at her, and his teeth were sharp and inhuman. She closed her eyes against the horrifying sight._

" _You are mine," he hissed, and Delores wept._

"Meow!"

Delores startled awake with a gasp. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst free from the confines of her ribcage. Her eyes wildly darted around the room, searching for the man with no nose who haunted her waking dreams. The room was empty, save a dresser, a chair, and the bed upon which she sat. Her cat sat near her feet. His tail lashed with worry.

"Meow?" Mr. Cuddlesworth said.

"I'm okay, Mr. Cuddlesworth," Delores said weakly, burying her face in her hands and trying to calm her anxious mind. Wetness met the skin on her hands, and she realized then that she had been crying in her sleep. Wiping away her tears, she raised her head and let out a deep sigh of relief. It was only a dream. The man with no nose couldn't hurt her anymore.

 _Until you go to sleep again,_ a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. _He will find you again._

Delores shook her head.

Breathing slowly and deeply, she averted her attentions to the walls of the room. It was a circular room, lit by a round window directly across from Delores's bed. The light shining through the sheer curtains accentuated the textures on the walls: lines and swirls in no discernible pattern. The floor beheld a series of rings, spreading out from the centre of the room, growing larger as they reached the wall. The pattern was familiar.

 _I'm inside of a tree!_ She thought in wonder and amazement.

Delores lifted the blanket, which was sinfully soft, though thin, and surprisingly warm. She slid off the mattress and planted her feet on the wooden floor. Her boots sat nearby.

"Did you take my boots off?" She asked Mr. Cuddlesworth. The cat purred in reply, and Delores smiled.

As she laced up her boots, she resolved to find her friends. Last she remembered, they had just arrived in Wirkmood and had been given an audience with the lord of the woodland elves. She stepped outside of the room and beheld a marvelous sight: a wooden balcony surrounded the trunk of the tree, which had been carved into the room she had slept in. An elaborately carved fence wrapped around the balcony. Delores approached the fence and looked down. She was dizzyingly high above the ground. Looking upwards, she noted that the foliage was less dense, and a light shone through, turning all around her to gold. She welcomed the warm beams of sunlight upon her face, and she closed her eyes to soak it in.

"I am glad to see that you are awake," a voice like silk and thunder sounded behind her.

Delores turned around.

 _Skin of pale moonlight. Flowing raven hair. Crimson eyes._

Elf Lord stood before her, a thoughtful expression on his chiseled, ageless face. His bloodshot eyes were trained on her. "Your cat is very loyal to you. He has hardly left your side since you fainted on the ground."

"I fainted?" Delores asked. Mr. Cuddlesworth wove around her ankles, and she lowered a hand to stroke the tip of his tail. "I suppose I did faint. I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." Her face became hot with shame.

"Nonsense," Elf Lord said with a smile. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, nor to apologize for. Prince Yuuma tells me that you have had an overwhelming set of days."

 _Understatement of the year,_ Delores thought wryly. "It's true. Everything happened very suddenly, with Tom being taken. I met Prince Yuuma only yesterday."

"And yet, he has taken quite a liking to you." Elf Lord joined her at the fence, gazing down upon his sunlit kingdom.

"I've never had so many people who cared about me," Delores admitted sheepishly. "It's altogether a strange feeling. I mean, I have friends back at Hogwarts – well, _one_ friend – but its different having so many people who support you."

"And you will have more friends yet, ere this is over," the lord of the elves said with a kind smile. "I have foreseen it."

"Foreseen it?" Delores asked. "What do you mean?"

"Given the right materials," Elf Lord began, "I can see visions of possible futures. But they are very confusing, and only intangible shadows of potential. For instance, I could not tell you for certain how this business with your Man with No Nose plays out. Tom's fate is shrouded in darkness and uncertainty."

Delores's shoulders fell in disappointment. She had been about to ask the elven lord about the future of Tom, and whether he would escape his tormentor.

"But do not let your heart be troubled, my dear. Should you succeed in convincing the council, you will have the support of many – both old friends and new."

"Council?" Delores questioned.

"Two months ago, I received a vision," Elf Lord began, "a vision which was evil and foreboding. It scared me. I saw two men, handsome yet terrible, and each wielded such dark power as the world had never before seen. Their evil magic left nothing untouched: Hogwarts was broken unto its very foundation, and its stones and paintings were cast into the river. The land of eternal summer, Summerstand, was plagued with a terrible, unending winter. The Forbidden forest was burned to ashes. More did I see, but I have not the heart to speak further of the destruction caused by this dark and evil magic.

"And just when the light of hope had left me, I saw a girl with a cat, leading an army. Above her shone a star: black it was, and brilliant as the dawn. I knew then that Harambe had sent his saviour to combat the darkness. Delores, you are that saviour. The Man with No Nose is the darkness – and if we do not rescue Tom soon, he will be consumed by dark magic. His mind will be poisoned by his captor, who craves power and total dominion above all else.

Therefore, I summoned delegates, heroes, from the far reaches of the land, to aid you in your quest to rescue Tom, for I believe the fate of the entire world depends on it. That is the council of which I speak."

"Wait a second," Delores said firmly. "We'll get back to the council later. You said something about Tom being tempted by dark magic." A sudden rage welled up within her, a spitting fire in her chest. "Tom would never toy with evil magic! He is a loyal servant of Harambe. He would never betray his furry Lord like that!"

"Did I not say that I foresaw one _possible_ future?" Elf Lord asked sharply. "Tom's fate stands upon the edge of a knife. If he should succeed in fighting back the shadow, this bleak future will never come to pass. He will be rescued, and you will be reunited with your true love."

Delores silently mulled over his words.

"Do not fear, Delores," he said in a softer tone. "What I see does not always reflect objective truth, but rather warning against failure. I beg of you not to blame me for acting as messenger."

Her anger simmered low, and she placed her hands on the intricately carved banister. Her hands gripped the wooden railing until her knuckles turned white. She exhaled, and her anger dissipated like mist under sunlight.

"I'm sorry for shouting," she said quietly, looking down at the designs in the wood, tracing them with her eyes. "I'm just... so worried about Tom. I wish I could help him. I wish I could save him."

She felt a strong, sure hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw that Elf Lord was gently smiling at her. His chiseled features seemed softer, more forgiving. "You _can_ save him, gentle daughter of Harambe."

"But how?" She desperately sought for the answer in Elf Lord's disturbingly red eyes, twin blood-moons gazing down at her with ethereal energy.

"By uniting the council this eve," he said. "If you succeed in uniting them, you will not be alone in your fear. You will have support, and your quest will have a greater chance of succeeding. They are all good, Harambe-fearing individuals, but it will take some work to convince them to join our cause. They are afraid, as you are, of an unknown evil they know little about. The world is a dark forest at night-time, full of terrifying noises and creatures who walk unseen, but clear light will shine between the leaves and branches at sunrise, and all will be set alight and easily understood."

Delores thought about all that she had heard from the elven lord. "Maybe this is a stupid request, but could you not look into the future again and seek Tom out?" She asked sheepishly.

"Unfortunately not." Elf Lord sighed. He lifted his chiseled chin and looked up into the high branches of the great trees. His long hair shimmered like satin. "I have expended all of my seeing energies for today. To be frank with you, Delores, I am running low on the... supplies I need in order to see the future."

"Supplies?" Delores questioned. "Can't you just buy more?"

"You mistake me, young one." He laughed then, and the sound was like breaking glass. "There are two major ingredients involved in future-seeing that are very hard to come by in these woods. One is the fabled Shower Shroom, which only grows in the filthiest of human dorm showers. The other is steroids."

"You... do drugs?"

"Did you not wonder at my swoleness? I am unlike any elf in my kingdom," Elf Lord explained, and Delores understood. She had indeed marveled at his large stature and rippling muscles, but she had no idea it had to do with a drug addiction. "If I do not ingest steroids and shower shrooms often, I become weak and withered, and my future-sight becomes limited and confusing. With steroids and shrooms comes the clarity to tell the future accurately."

"Oh," Delores stated simply.

"My shroom supplies have run low," he admitted, leaning on his beefy arms against the railing. The wood creaked in protest of his immense weight. "And I am afraid I have run out of steroids altogether. I have been running on scraps of steroids, seeing bits and pieces of the future, for two months now. For the next while, until I can get a new batch in from the human world, I can see nothing. I crave it with all my heart. All my thoughts are bent on my steroids..."

Delores's head swam with information and revelations. She had no idea that steroids could induce such a state upon elves. She had learned much about magical potions and plants in class, but nothing this serious had ever graced her textbooks.

"...But no matter. You must prepare to meet with the council." He stepped away from the banister. The moment had passed. He was once again concealed by a shield of black onyx and white marble, obscuring his weakness from the world. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Delores said. Elf Lord left her alone on the balcony. He crossed over a bridge which stretched from this balcony to another in a nearby tree. His immense weight caused the bridge to swing. It was obviously meant for a smaller elf who weighed less, but he crossed it without incident.

Delores headed back to her room. Mr. Cuddlesworth followed her. She did not sit down on her bed, but rather on the floor. She needed to clear her head. Maybe then she would feel the presence of Harambe more strongly. Something about being high up in the branches of a great tree made her feel more connected to Harambe.

She placed her palms on her knees and began to breathe slowly and deeply, in and out.

"Harambe," she began in a small voice, which slowly increased in strength and volume as she spoke. "Thank you for protecting me thus far. I now ask of you to give me the courage to continue my quest. I want to save Tom, your son, from the evil clutches of a darkness I know nothing about. Please give him the power to fight against whatever temptations come upon him from weavers of dark magic."

She paused.

"Oh, and also, please give me the strength and the wisdom to convince these strangers to join my cause."

 _Unite them,_ Elf Lord had said. But how?

The silence that followed her final statement made her feel a bit silly to be speaking to the air. Opening her eyes, Delores saw her cat sitting in front of her. She sighed and pet him. As she stroked his soft coat, she could wear she felt the barest of breezes against her hair, stirring it and tickling her cheek. She fancied it was the broad, furry hand of Harambe, letting her know he was with her. She felt a warmth overtake her, like an embrace. Somehow, she got the feeling that as much as she believed in Harambe, he believed in her more.

The thought was comforting.


	18. Rice to Meet You

**Chapter 18:** _Rice to Meet You_

* * *

 _My naym Deanrice_

 _And in the day_

 _While sun does shine_

 _And waves do sway_

 _I wish to find_

 _So fine a fish_

 _A Magikarp_

 _A lovely dish_

 _\- Deanrice of House Gary_

* * *

The swift and rhythmic thud of hooves meeting soft-packed earth thundered loud in Juanita's ears as she traversed the wide, winding path towards the elven city of Wirkmood, seated atop her mighty white stallion. The surrounding trees absorbed all excess sound and silenced all echoes, creating the illusion of a suffocating tunnel through which she travelled

Juanita could barely breathe, choking on stagnant air. Her right hand clutched the reins, and her left rested on the pommel of her sword, which bounced lightly against her thigh as she rode.

"Slow down, my lady!" The voice of her useless traveling partner sounded from behind her. Juanita rolled her eyes.

Deanrice, her companion, had been struggling to keep up with her for the majority of their journey. Summerstand was a month behind them. They had set off when the first snows had not yet fallen from the sky to coat the rest of the world, and now they had nearly reached their destination. Juanita was a seasoned rider and a hardy traveller, but Deanrice was only a fisherman with little equestrian experience. Juanita wondered, not for the first time, if he had ever ridden _any_ creature before, let alone a horse.

He was lagging behind. Juanita had half a mind to dig her knees into her horse's flank and urge him to run faster in order to outpace Deanrice, but she did nothing.

Deanrice eventually caught up with her. His eyes flitted from left to right, searching the bushes and surrounding trees for enemies. Juanita snorted; Deanrice was a coward.

"I do not like this forest," he said admittedly.

"I do not like _you_ ," Juanita replied coldly.

Her long braid bounced against her back with the movement of her horse. Deanrice's horse, a short pony, was a head shorter than Juanita's stallion, Hedwig. Juanita didn't know what Deanrice had named his beast, but she assumed it was something nearly as stupid as his own name.

 _Deanrice Gary, a nothing man from a nothing House, who will amount to nothing,_ Juanita thought with a wry smile.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are very kind, Lady Juanita?" Deanrice said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Juanita's eyes locked onto him as he rode up beside her. His pleasant tone of voice only angered her more. His face, though mostly plain and nondescript, framed by a mass of messy black hair, bore a scar which passed from the right side of his jaw, arcing over the bridge of his nose like forked tongues of lightning. Whenever he smiled, his scarred flesh smiled with him, stretching slightly. His was a punchable face, and Juanita would very much like to punch him, if only to be rid of that obnoxious smile.

"You will call me Lady Steam," she retorted, "and yes, many people have, actually. I'm very well liked, you know." She averted her eyes to the path ahead, a broad smile on her face as she thought of the perfect comeback. "Actually, I wouldn't expect you to know. You don't know the feeling."

She showed _him_.

"Sorry, Lady Steam," said Deanrice.

Juanita was pleased. "You should be. Already you have delayed our journey, no thanks to your miniscule bladder. You've had to take, what, seven bathroom breaks in the past hour?"

"Eight, my lady."

Juanita made a face. She was anxious to arrive in Wirkmood before sunset fell and the council was set to begin. However, if they did not hurry up, they would miss sunset altogether. The sun hung low on the horizon, and although she could not see it clearly through the leaves above her head, she could see just enough of the sky that she knew it was drawing near. The forest darkened.

Her legs, bare below the knees, brushed against the leaves of a passing bush. She paid it no mind. The sound of swishing swimsuit fabric filled the air as her flowered blue boardshorts rubbed up against the leather of her saddle.

 _I wish I were on my own,_ Juanita thought, not for the first time, nor would it be the last. Deanrice set her on edge.

Juanita's home, the Southern kingdom of Summerstand, was a land of great heat, eternal summer, sand, and temperate beaches. It was founded by a great king of old, King Anakin Sandwalker, who went mad in his old age, growing to despise the very sand upon which he laid the foundations of his kingdom.

At this time, Summerstand was ruled by a series of forty two lords and their Houses. Each House governed a small portion of the land which had once been a united state. Lord Dogalyno Steam, Juanita's father, was one such lord, and she his lone heir.

That does not mean to say that Juanita didn't have siblings, for she did – five of them , in fact. However, none of them were the legitimate children of Dogalyno. Juanita's mother, the Lady Shawna Bawna Steam, was a bit of a sketchy woman, and for some reason, Dogalyno didn't seem to mind that she often cheated on him with another man.

Despite her dysfunctional family, Juanita led a happy life, swimming in the ocean with her half sister, Roberta, and mock sword fighting with her half brother, Sando Calrissian. She raced Arjay on the sand dunes and played Scrabble with Brenda and read bedtime stories to her baby sister, THE RECKONING. Her childhood was a joyful one, surrounded by half siblings who loved her and parents who gave her every opportunity to succeed in life.

But Juanita remembered the day her life was forever changed, a bitter taste that remained in her mouth to this day: it was the day that Deanrice Gary had entered her life. The memory burned fresh in her mind like an open, festering wound that refused to heal.

The Steams had a reputation for taking in orphans, misfits, and degenerates, and as such, when a parentless boy named Deanrice approached Dogalyno while he was shopping for new Crocs at the shoe store, he couldn't deny him. Dogalyno and Shawna Bawna offered him lodgings in the abandoned fishing shed by the sea near their house, but he would often join the Steams for meals of fish that he had caught himself. _Magikarp_ , he called them, in a foreign language that even the brainy Roberta could not identify. He claimed to be of a House called Gary, but no such house had ever existed in Summerstand. Out of courtesy, the Steams called him Deanrice Gary, but Juanita knew that they were simply humouring him. House Gary didn't exist, and Deanrice was a nothing.

Juanita knew little about Deanrice, and she preferred to keep things that way. All she knew about him - and this she knew only because her father had told her - was that he had wandered the open tundras of the north with a group of ice natives, learning to fish and hunt seals. How his face became thus scarred, she had no idea; and Juanita didn't care to ask.

Juanita had fumed for hours when her father had demanded that Deanrice accompany her on her journey to Wirkmood.

"I'm attending a secret council meeting, not going fishing, dad!" she had shouted. "I don't need a babysitter!"

Sometimes, when her father was being extra obnoxious, Juanita wished she could use Roberta's signature line: "You're not my real dad!" But unfortunately, Juanita had no such excuse: Dogalyno was her biological father. Despite the man having zero blood relation, nor moral obligation, to his additional five "children," he took care of them and loved them like his own. The Lord of Summerstand was a man of high morals. It was one of the reasons why he took in Deanrice so willingly.

"I didn't ask you, Juanita!" her father had bellowed. He was a gentle, kind man, but could swiftly become as stormy as the sea, a trait which Juanita inherited. "Deanrice is going with you, unless you would prefer I send Sando in your stead. Elf Lord of Wirkmood did not specify which of my children I should send."

"Sando has no interest in council meetings and saving the world," she argued, "all he cares about now is his hair, and his boyfriend, Jeff."

Her father wouldn't actually send one of her half siblings to the council in her place, would he? It would bring shame not only to him, but to Juanita.

"Then I will send Roberta, or Arjay, or Brenda, or even THE RECKONING." Her father's eyes, normally as blue as the midsummer sky, were grey and stormy. "Deanrice is going with you, and that is final. Stop acting like a baby. You're acting less mature than THE RECKONING, and she's only three years old."

"I'm not a baby." Juanita felt tears of shame burn in the back of her throat like she had swallowed an entire raw onion. "Please, dad. I just... I hate Deanrice so much. I've hated him forever."

"I know," her father had said, his tone softening. He took her in his arms and hugged her tightly. The fabric of his airbrushed tourist t-shirt was rough against her cheek as she rested her head against his shoulder. He often swam in the ocean, and the salt had turned his clothing coarse. His t-shirt was airbrushed with the Steam House crest: a blue catfish leaping over a stylized yellow sun. Juanita's t-shirt bore the same crest.

"I just want to make you proud," she whispered.

"You do, every day." He held her at arm's length, smiling warmly at her. His skin, as dark as her own from hours spent tanning, surfing, and attending to the needs of his realm; and his hair, bleached white from the sun's rays, reminded her of who she was. She was a Steam. She was Dogalyno's trueborn daughter. She could do this, even if she hated her traveling companion with a blazing heat which rivalled that of the sun.

She sighed. "Fine. I'll take the wretch with me. But I'm not happy about it."

"I expect nothing less from you." Her father had sounded amused. He ruffled her white hair, messing up her tight, practical braid. His eyes twinkled like light on the surface of water, blue and cheerful once more. The storm had broken. "Good luck, my dear. You set out tomorrow."

And so, Juanita and Deanrice had become reluctant traveling companions. They argued endlessly about everything, and Deanrice saw fit to tease her at every opportunity. Sometimes, she'd feel her braid being pulled, and when she turned around in the saddle, mouth open to admonish him, Deanrice would be whistling an innocent tune, always five steps behind, just out of reach of her sword.

Juanita had a fiery temper, but she could do nothing now that they had left the confines of Summerstand's kingdom. In this foreign land, they were as good as equals. The very thought made her shiver with disgust.

Her rage only grew in intensity as their journey continued. And now, as their trip was slowly drawing to a close, and they approached the elven city, she thought of a way she could get back at Deanrice for his insolence. She wanted revenge, and she needed it soon, or she'd surely go mad.

"Hey, Deanrice," said Juanita in a pleasant tone, slowing her horse to a trot. He met her pace, looking up at her quizzically from atop his pony.

"Yes, my lady?"

Juanita smirked. "I'll race you to the bridge."

Before Deanrice could react, Juanita cried out to her horse, nudging his flank with her knees. Hedwig sped off along the forest path at a breakneck pace. In that moment, Juanita felt free – free from the confines of her noble heritage, from her unfortunate traveling companion, from her obligations and commitments. She was truly free, and she welcomed the feeling with an open heart. Whooping and laughing like a wild thing, reckless in her joy, she became an eagle cresting the tips of mountains, a sentinel in the sky. Hedwig leapt over fallen logs and twisting tree roots, a bolt of lightning fashioned into the visage of a horse. Juanita's long white braid streamed behind her, the trail of a blazing, shooting star.

The bridge was in her sights. Only then did she urge Hedwig to slow down to a trot, then a full stop. He tossed his head and mane, giddy from their reckless ride through the trees. Juanita patted his neck and dismounted, feeling invigorated. A wide smile spread across her face.

She peered down the path whence she came, looking out for Deanrice. She did not see him.

Juanita felt rather pleased with herself. _That will show him. He'll take a long time to catch up, and by that time, I'll already be in Wirkmood. Maybe he'll even get lost and fall in a pit._ She smiled at the thought.

Juanita approached the log bridge, holding Hedwig's reins. She somehow had to lead him across without causing him to panic. A normal horse would gawk and bolt at such a feat, but not Hedwig, especially not with Juanita reassuring him and encouraging him. She began leading him slowly and carefully across the log. It was wet and slippery from the river running directly underneath it. Juanita's white crocs, which she wore for every occasion, whether casual or formal, slipped on the wet wood, but she caught herself before she fell in the water.

Juanita and Hedwig were halfway across the log when Deanrice's voice sounded suddenly from somewhere nearby, startling Juanita so badly that she slipped, falling into the running river. Upon hitting the icy stream, she screamed. The river was colder and deeper than she expected, and although she was a strong swimmer, she struggled to reach the shore. Flailing her arms, she swam towards the river bank.

Deanrice was there, extending his hand towards her for her to grasp. For a moment, she pondered spitting on it and dragging herself to the bank, or yanking him into the river with her, to punish him. But she would not deny help, no matter who offered it– even if that person was Deanrice. She would just get back at him for saving her later.

Taking his hand, she found herself surprised by his strength as he dragged her from the water with ease. Her clothes were soaking wet. As she wrung out her clothing and spat out a mouthful of river water, Deanrice led her horse the remainder of the way over the bridge with no incident, which came as a surprise to Juanita: Hedwig tolerating Deanrice came as a shock to her. But there were more important matters for Juanita to attend to.

"You startled me," Juanita said crossly, slipping off her right Croc and dumping the water onto the ground. Along with the water came a small orange fish. She knelt to pick it up and deposited it back in the river. She trudged back towards her horse, seething with rage. She was cold and wet, but a hot fire of anger rose within her. "This is all _your_ fault."

"If you say so," Deanrice said, shrugging.

Juanita watched him in disbelief. How could he be so nonchalant?

"Whatever. How did you get here so fast?" she demanded, wringing out her braid and squeezing the water out onto the ground.

Deanrice smiled mysteriously as he mounted his pony, looking as imperious as any lord atop a noble steed. His scarred face seemed almost handsome, then, and thoughtful, as he looked down at her. The very notion infuriated Juanita like nothing else. "I took a shortcut."

"Shortcut," Juanita muttered as she climbed aboard Hedwig. She plodded after Deanrice, who had taken the lead. She would have loved to throw a rock at the back of his head. "I'll show you short cut, when I cut your head clean off your shoulders, you miserable little..."

Juanita and Deanrice rode on in silence, minus Juanita's muttered obscenities, which I will not repeat here. Upon reaching the gates of the elven city, the self-important grin left Deanrice's face, replaced by an expression of awe. Even Juanita was floored by the beauty and the majesty of the elven city of Wirkmood. Upon entering the city, Elves on stilts took their horses from them.

An elf approached Juanita and bowed. "Lady Juanita. You are just in time. The council meeting is about to begin. Allow me to take you to the gazebo."

Their elven guide led them to a great tree, then down a path which ran alongside the tree. Juanita's eyes were locked forward in front of her, but she could see Deanrice marveling at all around him out of the corner of her eye. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Neither had Juanita, but she wasn't about to admit that. She had a job to do, and she would do it with dignity.

"Beyond this arch lies the council gazebo. Follow the path, turn right, and go up the stairs," said their elven guide, who had shrill, high-pitched voice. He was trying very hard not to stare at Juanita's dripping clothes.

Her airbrushed t-shirt with the crest of House Steam hung pathetically on her muscular frame. Something about the deadly expression on her face must have told the elf not to ask why she was soaking wet and dripping water all over the wooden pathway, but to just accept it as something that was normal for humans. What did they know of humans, anyways?

"Thank you. That will be all," Juanita stated in her best "Lady of Summerstand" voice.

She watched as the guard left, waiting until he was just out of sight. She made no move to walk under the arch. Deanrice looked at her, confused.

When the guards had finally disappeared from view, Juanita grabbed Deanrice by the collar and shoved him against a nearby tree. She covered his mouth to prevent him from crying out. Leaning close, she whispered, "If you mess this up for me, I will not hesitate to kill you. The only reason you're here is because my father pities you."

Deanrice's eyes were wide and terrified. They were green, something she had never noticed before.

 _Not that I care_ , she quickly thought. _No matter the colour of his eyes, he's still an idiot and a nuisance. He's still worthless._

"I am the future Lady of Summerstand, the only trueborn daughter of Lord Dogalyno and Lady Shawna Bawna," she continued, voice low so as not to arouse suspicion from their hosts. "I am the first to my name and the heir to the Steam House. You, Deanrice, have nothing. _You are nothing_. Do you understand me?"

Deanrice nodded weakly. His brows furrowed slightly, and sweat gleamed on his brow in the light of the fireflies which circled lazily above their heads.

Good," she said, stepping back. "Now, let's go. Let's not keep everyone waiting more than we already have."

She swept away, not looking back to see if he was following her. As she walked under the arch and headed in the direction which the elf had directed them, her mind took her back to Deanrice, which annoyed her. He didn't deserve to take up any more of her time and energy.

And yet, the image of his terrified eyes came unbidden, and she could swear that in her mind's eye, she saw the stirrings of real hurt in those stupid green eyes of his as she verbally tore him apart.

 _You, Deanrice, have nothing. You are nothing,_ she had said.

A pang of... something stirred in her chest. Was it regret? Juanita quickly dismissed the thought. He had no right to feel hurt – she was only telling him the truth.


	19. The Council of Elf Lord

**A/N:** Krunsum, it Thot i told you do RETURN MY GERAGD WAY POSRTer YOU PREP POSR!111111111111111111111

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 **Chapter 19:** _The Council of Elf Lord_

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Elf Lord's council gazebo was crafted from the finest ivory wood, and glowed like liquid moonbeams in the shade of the Great Tree's luxurious canopy of leaves. Each luminous white plank was expertly carved, depicting images of sprawling woodlands and tiny stationary elves. The elven figures seemed to dance and skip amid the trees, manifestations on wood still thrumming with life despite no longer possessing roots or branches to drink in water or sunlight. As Delores's brown eyes focused on the delicate carvings, the elves stood still, rendered motionless by her curious, searching gaze.

 _Maybe they're shy_ , thought Delores as she glanced upwards at the latticed ceiling of the gazebo. Twining grape vines wove in and out of the criss-crossed white wood, and tiny clusters of green and purple grapes, hung from the latticed rafters like organic chandeliers. Lanterns emanating white light hung on silver chains, setting the gazebo alight with starfire.

A long table draped with a shimmering silver tablecloth sat in the centre of the gazebo, laden with vegetarian delicacies native to each delegate's homeland in a gesture of hospitality: green onions from Thessaly Ranch, goldfish crackers from Summerstand, raspberry soda from the Undying Lands, pumpkin pastries from Hogwarts, and trays of golden apples native to Wirkmood, among other dishes.

Delores idly munched on a pastry. As she bit down, crumbs fell from her mouth, settling on the skirt of the pink dress given to her by the elves for the council meeting. Self-conscious, she set her pastry down and swept the crumbs underneath the table.

 _I hope nobody saw that,_ she thought.

Her stomach turned inside-out as she looked up and locked eyes with the centaur prince Yuuma, sitting directly across from her. His emerald eyes sparkled with contained amusement, and the left side of his mouth tugged upwards in a knowing smirk.

 _Harambe, help me._ Delores felt her cheeks ignite with embarrassment. She looked down at the half-eaten pastry on her plate. _He thinks I'm a princess, but real princesses don't get crumbs all over their clothes._

Elf Lord cleared his throat. He sat in a white wooden chair suitable to an elf of his immense height and width, dressed in an elegant violet satin robe trimmed with braided gold. A golden circlet fashioned in the shape of overlapping leaves sat on his head, and his raven hair flowed freely. His skin glowed like the moon in the light of the hanging lanterns. "The sun has set. It is time for this council to begin."

"Elf Lord, if I may," said a man seated at the far end of the long table. His skin was ghostly white, like all the blood in his body had turned to ice. He looked young, but there was something about his eyes that evoked the wisdom of the elderly. His hair was copper, and he wore a grey suit jacket. The most peculiar thing about him was his skin, sparkling like crushed diamonds in the lantern-light. "Are we not missing two delegates?"

"You are correct, King Bedward," said Elf Lord in a voice like a bolt of silk and lightning. "The Summerstand delegates have not yet arrived. However, we cannot afford to wait any longer. The moon is rising."

"Of course," Bedward said with a nod. A dark-haired woman sat on his left, with skin that had the same shining quality as Bedward's. She laid a pale hand on his arm. Her lips moved as she spoke in an imperceptible whisper to Bedward, who smiled reassuringly. He took her hand in his own and laced their fingers together. The woman bit her lip and reached up with her free hand to draw her hair back and away from her face.

 _That must be his wife._ Delores watched the couple with the sparkling skin. Though they were beautiful, there was a profound sadness in their eyes that spoke of love lost.

"Before we officially begin, I would like to formally introduce myself," said Elf Lord. "My name is Elf Lord of Wirkmood. Joining us today are representatives of the realm."

Names and titles passed in a flurry of speech, and Delores's head swam with the new information. In attendance, there was a mysterious woman with pink skin who was introduced as the mystic gem woman, Garnet, who shared Elf Lord's power of Foresight. She had a luxurious afro and thick sunglasses concealing her entire forehead. There was a goateed man in a resplendent suit of red and gold armour, Sir Tony Starcc of Starcc Tower; their Vampiric Majesties, Bedward and his wife Ella of Clan Sullen; Arrow, Kayak, and Marcus of the Volturi; Morgan the wizard, a Hogwarts graduate in a tie-dye robe and tinted sunglasses; and the lord and lady of the Grey Empire, Chroostian Groodle and Anastoosia Stoole, who were ingesting toast with much more enthusiasm than was necessary.

Delores exhaled with relief as Elf Lord finally introduced Yuuma to the council. _Finally, someone I know,_ she thought. The centaur prince winked cheekily in Delores's direction.

"This is Delores Jane Umbridge," said Elf Lord. "She studies at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She is the primary reason I called this meeting."

"Wait!" A voice rang out. Two figures, a male and a female, ascended the gazebo stairs, breathing heavily and dripping water respectively. The voice belonged to the dripping figure, a young woman with brown skin and white hair. She looked miserable in a wet t-shirt emblazoned with a colourful catfish and sun insignia. "What are you waiting for?" She hissed to her male companion. "Announce me, you fool."

"Oh." The young man cleared his throat. His messy black hair framed a terribly scarred face. "Our apologies, Elf Lord, council, for our late arrival. Announcing the Lady Juanita Steam of Summerstand."

 _The missing delegates!_ Delores realized. The Lady of Summerstand was tall and lean. The wet fabric of her t-shirt clung to and accentuated her muscular shoulders. Delores's eyes were immediately drawn to the sword hanging from her belt.

"Welcome, Lady Steam," said Elf Lord with a wide smile, standing up and spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. "Please, feel free to take your seat."

"Thank you, Elf Lord. And please, call me Juanita," Juanita replied coolly, striding forward to take her seat.

Her black-haired companion remained standing until Elf Lord addressed him. "You may sit as well, Deanrice Gary."

"How do you know my name?" The scarred man's eyebrows rose in surprise. Juanita's mouth was a grim line. She rolled her blue eyes, betraying her annoyance with her traveling companion.

Elf Lord's eyes twinkled. "I know a great many things, Deanrice Gary."

 _They don't like each other very much,_ mused Delores as she watched Deanrice hesitantly take his seat beside Juanita. The white-haired woman scooted her chair as far away from Deanrice as she possibly could without bashing into her neighbour, who happened to be Yuuma. _I wonder why?_

"Juanita, Deanrice, I was just introducing Delores to the council," Elf Lord said. "This is Delores Umbridge."

"Hi," Delores squeaked, finding that all of the sudden, her mouth and tongue were perilously dry.

Juanita's eyes were cold, pinning her in place like icy stakes. "...Hi." The casual greeting awkwardly exited her severe mouth. She was beautiful and dangerously cold.

If Juanita was Winter, Deanrice was Summer. He waved and gave Delores an easygoing smile. Up close, Delores could clearly see his prominent facial scar. Despite his scar, he was a handsome young man. His messy black hair and green eyes reminded Delores of Johnny Potter, Ebony's date to the Winter Ball.

Elf Lord clapped his hands together to draw the attention of the council. "Now that we are all in attendance, let us begin. Like I was saying before, Delores is the driving force behind this meeting. We are gathered here today – rulers and warriors, ladies and fishermen, witches and wizards, cats and centaurs – to discuss the darkness which has plagued my waking dreams. A great danger lies before us all. Garnet, what have you Seen?"

As the gem woman spoke for the first time, Delores could swear she spoke with two voices intertwined. "I have Seen much the same, my old friend. My Future Vision has told me everything, and yet nothing. It is all wisps of shadowed possibility. However, one thing remains clear: a great danger is coming."

"A great danger?" Juanita asked. She leaned forward in her seat, dripping water onto the tablecloth.

"Yes," Garnet confirmed. "This danger dangles above us all. The Sorcerer with No Name. I have Seen him in my Visions, a once-man shrouded in darkness and deceit, who will summon an army to do his dark bidding. It has already begun, with the capture of Tom Riddle."

 _Tom!_ Delores's heart pounded relentlessly in her chest.

"Who is Tom Riddle?" Tony Starcc asked.

"That, my friends, is a question only Delores has the right to answer," said Elf Lord. Delores's face grew hot as dozens of eyes turned to look at her.

"Hem-hem," she coughed weakly. She clasped her hands in her lap, sweating profusely. "Well, Tom Riddle was... _is_ a Hogwarts student, my upperclassman. He is a devout believer in Harambe, and a truer friend than any I have ever known. I am... very close to him." The lies sprung forth from her throat like a rabid racoon escaping from an Animal Control vehicle.

Delores told her story in as much detail as she could recall, regaling the council with the tragic tale of Tom's kidnapping by the man with no nose, her failed tracking spell, and the pocket dimension. She told them about Yuuma's rescue, Ryouma's betrayal, and her search for answers in Wirkmood.

"But why here?" questioned Bedward. "Why Wirkmood?"

"I needed help opening the pocket dimension," Delores explained, realizing how insane she sounded halfway through her sentence. "It's a magical thing. It sounds weird, I know."

"The correct term is Magical Calzone," said Garnet. "A Magical Calzone is a pocket dimension which can only be accessed using strong magic. The elves have such magic."

"Aren't you in a magic school, though?" Juanita asked skeptically. She had unravelled her braid and was running her fingers through her white hair, untangling the witch-locked tresses. "Why can't you open this Magical Calzone yourself?"

"I mean, I _am_ in a magic school," Delores began. Her face became a beacon of shame. "But I couldn't open it. I haven't learned anything about Magical Calzones yet. Yuuma told me that the elves could open it."

Elf Lord sat pensively at the table's head. His marble slab of a face and bulging, bloodshot eyes were thoughtful. "The Calzone will be no trouble at all. However, the danger lies with Tom's no-nosed kidnapper, who I believe to be one and the same as the Sorcerer with No Name. He is the catalyst that will cast this world into darkness. Tom must be rescued from this evil facsimile of a man."

Bedward spoke. "If the Sorcerer wanted Tom dead, he would have killed him at the Ball. He needs him for something."

"I agree," Elf Lord said gravely. "The Sorcerer relies on Dark Magic. It is corruption incarnate, and breeds nothing but poison and treachery. If Tom is convinced to use Dark Magic, he will fall into darkness."

"Tom would never succumb to Dark Magic," Delores snapped. Rage burned in the back of her throat and coated her bones with liquid flame. She trembled with anger. "He is loyal to Harambe!" She clenched her fists in her lap, bunching up the pink fabric of her dress.

"I did not say Tom _would_ succumb to the darkness," Elf Lord said gently. "Only that the Sorcerer will certainly try to convince him of its benefits. For there are indeed many, not without dire consequences."

"What benefits could there be to Dark Magic?" Juanita asked incredulously.

"Legend states that Dark Magic has the capacity to raise the Dead," said Garnet. "Among other evil, terrible powers, of course. But nothing comes without a price. A very, very high one. There's a reason there are very few practitioners of Dark Magic."

Delores gulped. Her rage simmered low, and her heart fluttered in her chest like an anxious sparrow.

"Let us not speak of Dark Magic any longer," Elf Lord commanded. He stood, and the top of his head brushed the latticed ceiling and squashed a bundle of purple grapes. "This council was called to assemble a team to rescue Tom from the clutches of this evil Sorcerer. Those in attendance are not bound to accompany Delores on her journey." Elf Lord's red eyes swept across those seated at the long table. "Who will accompany Delores on her rescue mission?"

Delores waited. Waiting was painful. She tried not to look at the council members as they whispered to one another or sat on their lonesome, lost in thought.

"I have already made my decision," Yuuma whinnied. "I will accompany Princess Delores on this quest. It would be my honour to meet this Tom, a fellow Harambe worshiper."

"Excellent," said Elf Lord with a smile. "Anyone else?"

The table was quiet. Then, the scraping of a chair leg against wood sounded, and Juanita of Summerstand stood, still damp, but no longer dripping. Her white hair was messily rebraided, but her blue eyes burned with determination. "Summerstand will support you," she said. "On my honour as a Steam, I vow to help you and keep you safe." She elbowed Deanrice savagely. Her elbow connected with his head. "Deanrice also."

"I have no House and no honour, but I pledge to help you just the same," he said.

Delores smiled. "Thank you," she whispered. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. As offers were put forth, Delores's initial determination wavered. Far less had agreed to accompany her as she had hoped for. Juanita and Deanrice, Yuuma, and Garnet agreed to come. Elf Lord himself could not accompany the group further than the Calzone itself.

Their Vampiric Majesties politely declined, but wished Delores and her charges the best. The Volturi refused, as did Morgan, Tony Starcc, Chroostian, and Anastoosia. Delores respected their decisions, but a pang of hurt tugged at her heartstrings. _How could these people just refuse to rescue Tom? If only they knew him,_ she mused miserably, _then they'd certainly agree to help me._

Elf Lord signalled the adjournment to the meeting and thanked each delegate personally. Most of the council attendees left, leaving some to mill about and talk quietly amongst themselves. Delores spotted Tony Starcc speaking with Juanita on the stairs. Garnet and Elf Lord were DMCing nearby.

Delores sighed and picked up Mr. Cuddlesworth. "Come on," she whispered to him. "Let's get some sleep."

"Excuse me." Delores jumped. Her Vampiric Majesty, Ella, was standing behind her. "I'm sorry if I scared you," the queen said apologetically.

"No, no!" Delores shook her head. "You didn't scare me at all."

Ella smiled, but her eyes betrayed a deep sadness. "Earlier, you mentioned that you attend Hogwarts."

"I do," said Delores with a nod. "Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to ask after a particular student, but I don't know what name she goes by now. My daughter, Renesmee, ran away from home to attend Hogwarts."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Delores said apologetically. "I mean, I don't know a lot of people since I'm not so popular, but you can try describing her to me."

"She is a vampire, as we are," Ella began. "Very pale skin, dark hair. She may have dyed it. She was in a My Chemical Romance phase when she left Forks. Forks is the name of our kingdom," she paused to explain. "She has a slew of names which she often uses as pen names for her emo poetry, and I imagine she may be using one as her current name. Any combination of Ebony, Dark'ness, Dementia, Raven, or Way."

"Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way!" Delores exclaimed. "She's my roommate!"

"Bedward!" Ella screamed. Her husband was at her side in an instant.

"What is it, my love?" He demanded.

"Our Renesmee!" Ella sobbed, but she was smiling, a genuine smile. "Delores says she knows her. She's at Hogwarts. And they're roommates!"

"They're roommates," Bedward breathed softly, as if in a dream. His amber eyes were searching as they landed on Delores's face. "Is she safe?"

"Yeah," Delores said. "Last I saw her, she was going to sleep in her coffin. That was the night I snuck away... two days ago, now. She has loads of emo friends, a huge wardrobe, and a boyfriend named Johnny."

"Praised be Harambe!" Ella gasped. "Delores, we cannot thank you enough. We were so worried."

"No problem," Delores said. The vampire queen wrapped her in a motherly embrace. Her skin was cold to the touch, and yet, Delores felt warm. Even though her life was falling to pieces, she had found an ember of hope amid the ashes.


	20. Deanrice Gary, Quite Contrary

**Chapter 20:** _Deanrice Gary, Quite Contrary_

* * *

Morning dawned on Wirkmood Forest. Sunlight pierced the leaf-roof of the elven city, dappling the ground with gold. The city buzzed with activity, and it was not just the perpetual phalanx of fireflies pirouetting overhead: the very trees held their breaths in anticipation of the adventure that was about to begin.

The fellowship, consisting of Elf Lord, Garnette, Juanita, Deanrice, Prince Yuuma, Delores, and Mr. Cuddlesworth gathered for a lavish breakfast of pancakes, yoghurt, fruit salad, and green onions before parting to pack in preparation for the journey ahead.

Delores found her newly washed pink camouflage outfit folded neatly on her bed. Beside it lay a coat with a black fur-lined hood. Lifting it off the bed, she wondered at its softness. It's colour and texture reminded her of Harambe. Accompanying the coat was a short, handwritten note on a paper shaped like a leaf.

 _To Delores,_ it read. _Though the wind in Wirkmood is warm and sweet, winter is cruel and cold beyond the forest._

"Elf Lord," she said with a smile. It was easy for her to forget the season when she was ensconced in the warm, golden embrace of Wirkmood. When she set out to save Tom three days prior, she hadn't thought to bring more than the clothes on her back, a fanny pack full of granola bars, Tom's hair, and her wand.

The night had been cold, but in the wake of Tom's kidnapping, her rage had run hot like molten iron through her veins.

Delores dressed herself. After lacing up her pink combat boots, Delores slid Elf Lord's note into her pocket. On a whim, she slipped on her new coat and twirled for Mr. Cuddlesworth. The soft black fabric swished around her knees, sighing and whispering like a living thing. "What do you think?"

Mr. Cuddlesworth flicked his tail. "Meow," he meowed approvingly.

"Aw, thanks," she said, kissing his furry forehead. She took off the coat and laid it gently on her bed. "I'll come back for you later!" she said to it.

The coat did not reply.

Delores and her cat wandered into the bustling elven kitchens. The air was warm and smelled of spice. The head chef, a bodacious, brusque elf named Belinda Blink, barked orders from atop a stool of white wood. The counters and appliances were elf-sized, too small for humans to comfortably utilize, but that did nothing to prevent Belinda from putting Delores to work.

"You can make sandwiches," she said briskly. "Your friend is already hard at work."

 _My friend?_

Belinda directed her to a wooden table laden with freshly-baked bread and jars of peanut butter. She was surprised to see Deanrice bent over the table, using a tiny knife to cut tiny slices from tiny loaves of bread in order to make tiny sandwiches. Delores wondered just how many sandwiches she'd have to eat to fully satisfy her hunger.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Delores genially.

Deanrice looked up. "I like making myself useful," he admitted, stepping aside to give Delores room to stand, or rather, crouch in front of the low, elf-sized table.

Under Belinda's sharp, watchful gaze, Delores got to work. Her and Deanrice made an efficient team: Deanrice cut the bread and spread the peanut butter, while Delores closed the sandwiches, cut off the crust, and bagged them.

Once the head chef's worries were assuaged and she concluded that the two humans were performing to her expectations, she left them to their task. Delores and Deanrice worked in companionable silence for some time, communicating in simple gestures and monosyllables.

Mr. Cuddlesworth brushed up against Deanrice's ankle, purring. He looked down at the cat and spoke. "Hello there. What's your name, handsome?"

"Meow," said Mr. Cuddlesworth. He crouched and leapt, landing maladroitly on Deanrice's shoulder, digging his claws into his shirt, and likely, his skin. Deanrice winced, but smiled broadly.

"His name is Mr. Cuddlesworth," said Delores. She watched as her cat draped himself over Deanrice's shoulders like a fluffy white scarf.

Deanrice reached up with his free hand to scratch Mr. Cuddlesworth's chin. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cuddlesworth."

"Meow."

Delores translated. "Likewise."

Deanrice returned to sandwich-making, paying Mr. Cuddlesworth little mind. The unscarred side of his face was turned towards her. "You have quite the connection with him. It's remarkable."

Delores flushed. "Every Hogwarts student has an animal of some sort. You're allowed a cat, an owl, or a toad. A cat was the obvious choice for me, since I already had Mr. Cuddlesworth at the time, and I love cats."

"I like all animals, but not all animals like me," Deanrice admitted. "Maybe Mr. Cuddlesworth likes me because I smell like _magikarp_ – fish, I mean. I was a fisherman in Summerstand."

"Was?"

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards, a phantom of a smile. "Before I was ordered to accompany Lady Steam to Wirkmood."

"Oh," said Delores thoughtfully. Deanrice had an accent she couldn't quite place, vastly different than Juanita's slow, melodious drawl. Juanita's voice was the ocean on a calm summer day. Deanrice's speech was harsher, sharp and defined. "What's Summerstand like?"

Deanrice laughed. " _Hot!_ But nice enough, I suppose."

Delores giggled. Deanrice was practically a stranger, but she found herself liking him more and more the more she got to know him. Talking to him was easy.

 _Easier than talking to Ebony,_ she thought privately. "Were you born there?"

"No," he replied, cutting into a new loaf of bread with as much aggression as he dared, armed as he was with a tiny, serrated knife. "I was born in the Sevii Islands, south of Kanto. Where are you from?"

"London, but I go to school in Scotland."

"Maybe I'll visit one day," he said, turning towards her and revealing both sides of his face. He smiled. He was handsome when he smiled, Delores noted. "I travelled some before landing a job in Summerstand, which is where I got this t-shirt."

His t-shirt, crisp and white, was similar to Juanita's, but lacked any particular insignia. The airbrushed paint depicted a generic sunset scene with the word 'Summerstand' sprayed across it in black ink.

"I like it," said Delores. The sunset was skilfully painted and vibrantly coloured. "Juanita has a t-shirt too, but why the fish?" Despite the fact that it had been drenched at the time, Delores had managed to make out a catfish and sun insignia on the soaked fabric of Juanita's t-shirt.

Delores could swear she saw a grimace twist his features momentarily, but the expression was just as soon gone. "The symbol of her House is a leaping catfish," he explained airily. "House Steam governs the city of Summerstand and the Sundance Coast."

"We have Houses in Hogwarts," Delores said, "only it's slightly different. I'm in Slytherin. Our symbol is a green serpent. What is your House symbol?"

Deanrice suddenly recoiled, dropping his knife with a hiss. Mr. Cuddlesworth leaped from his shoulders with a yowl, landing on a sandwich and squashing it flat. Delores turned to see Deanrice clutching his hand. His finger was bleeding – not heavily, but enough to warrant a wallet's worth of worry.

"You're bleeding!" Delores cried, reaching into her pocket for her wand. "I know a spell that could help—"

"No!" He winced, grabbing a nearby napkin and holding it tightly against the wound. "It's just a little cut, I'll be okay. No need for alarm."

"Are you sure?" Delores asked. Anxiety ate away at her for her newfound friend.

"I should go ask Elf Lord for a band-aid," said Deanrice. "You continue on without me."

Delores swallowed. "Okay. Feel better," she called after his retreating form.

He left her wondering what she did wrong, and how on earth she was going to finish making so many tiny sandwiches all by herself.


	21. The Magical Calzone

**Chapter 21:** _The Magical Calzone_

* * *

"Is this good?" asked Yuuma, bending down to Delores's height to better aid her in climbing onto his muscular back.

"I think so," Delores said. Her clammy hands gripped the rim of the faux leather saddle strapped around Yuuma's middle as she clumsily placed her left foot inside the stirrup, fighting to keep her balance.

Centaurs generally considered horse tack to be a grave affront, but for Delores's safety and comfort, Yuuma had generously allowed the elven stablehand to equip him as he would any other horse - sans bridle, of course. Yuuma's shapely anime-man mouth would never tolerate a bit.

Still unused to horseback riding, let alone centaurback riding, Delores struggled to haul herself up into the saddle, even with Yuuma's aid. After a lengthy struggle, she was finally seated.

Yuuma straightened his legs without warning. Delores squeaked as the world shifted. She gripped his mane like a vise until she was oriented to her new vantage point. She adjusted her backpack, heavy with tiny sandwiches, spare clothes, her new coat, and various other supplies.

The centaur prince twisted his horse neck around so his human face could view her properly. "Was I too fast? Sorry," he apologized, his emerald eyes bright with worry.

"No, it's fine," Delores said weakly. "Oh!" she cried as a white figure leapt up from the ground and onto Yuuma's saddle in front of her. It was Mr. Cuddlesworth.

"Meow," he said. His claws found quick purchase in the faux leather of the saddle. Delores laughed. She untangled one hand from Yuuma's mane and pet Mr. Cuddlesworth, running her fingers through his silky white fur in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

Taking in her surroundings from her new vantage point, she saw Elf Lord conversing with Garnet nearby. Juanita and Deanrice stood less than ten feet away. Deanrice held the bridle of Juanita's white stallion as she skillfully mounted up. Delores watched her snatch the reins from Deanrice's hand, then lightly pat her horse's neck.

Delores almost didn't recognize the lady of Summerstand. Her treatment of Deanrice still held true, but she was no longer soaking wet. Her hair was neatly plaited, a stream of white like freshly fallen snow trailing over her right shoulder, contrasting sharply against the copper tone of her skin. The fish and sun insignia was a vibrant burst of colour against her crisp white t-shirt.

She looked from Juanita to Deanrice. His hair seemed to absorb the sparse sunlight, it was so black. The only indication of his earlier injury was a band-aid wrapped around his finger.

 _Did I say something earlier to upset him?_ She thought, gnawing on her worry like an old bone. Deanrice's quick escape indicated that she had. _Maybe he's afraid of blood and ran off because he didn't want to look weak in front of me._ She silently willed him to look at her - to smile, to _anything_ , but he was engrossed in saddling his own mount, a sleepy-looking pony.

 _Or maybe you're just telling yourself that to make yourself feel better,_ hissed a little voice in the back of her mind. _You probably overstepped, like you always do when trying to make new friends._

 _You don't know that._ Delores didn't realize she was clenching her fist until Yuuma protested.

"You're holding my mane too tightly," he said with a wince.

Delores let go of his mane like it was a handful of stinging scorpions, swaying in the saddle. "I'm sorry!" she said quickly, red-faced with embarrassment.

"It's okay," he reassured her. It did nothing to ease the storm in her gut.

 _See? You always hurt the ones you care about most,_ the little voice taunted. _First Tom, then Deanrice, and now Yuuma. Who's next?_

"Be quiet," Delores muttered, pinching herself savagely in an effort to clear her mind.

"What was that?"

She jumped at the sound of Elf Lord's succulent voice. "Hi, Elf Lord."

"Prince Yuuma, Mr. Cuddlesworth, Delores," he greeted them. His cushiony lips parted in a smile, his red eyes glowing like hot coals. Yuuma was not a short centaur by any means, but the elven lord still towered over them. He wore a riding outfit of grey-green silk that clung to and accentuated his grotesquely muscular frame and outlined every protruding vein, despite the fact that he would not be riding today. He was simply too thicc for any horse to handle, but remained an equestrian in spirit. "Are you three ready to leave?"

Yuuma neighed in assent. Delores nodded. "Oh, and thank you for the coat. It's beautiful," she said. Warm gratitude bloomed in the centre of her chest. Her last coat, a worn blue (ew) jacket, had been a hand-me-down from her sister, Daenerys. It felt nice to own something new, purchased with her specifically in mind.

"It was my pleasure." Elf Lord chuckled. His laughter was a mighty bell tolling, a thunderclap, and the scrape of shifting glaciers all at once. "I'm sorry they didn't have one in your size, Prince Yuuma, or I'd have ordered one for you too."

It was Yuuma's turn to laugh. "I understand. Human coats just aren't made for centaur bodies!"

"Meow," said Mr. Cuddlesworth. Delores translated. "I don't need a coat. I was born with one."

The elf and the centaur laughed, and Mr. Cuddlesworth purred in amusement. Delores smiled. Maybe she didn't hurt _everyone_ she cared about. They seemed to enjoy her company - or her cat's, at the very least.

Elf Lord took his leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to speak with Lady Steam. Then, we can be on our way." He bid them a fleeting farewell and lumbered over to the delegates from Summerstand.

Delores watched nervously as Juanita's impressive white stallion shied away from Elf Lord's tall, swole form. Juanita gently stroked the beast's neck to sooth him. The gentle gesture caught Delores by surprise: the lady of Summerstand struck her as harsh, a woman forged from iron and the cold fury of the sea. Gradually, the horse became used to the idea of a giant, steroid-addicted elf standing next to him. Delores couldn't hear the resulting conversation between Elf Lord and Juanita, so she busied herself braiding Yuuma's silky chestnut mane.

"My friends," Elf Lord announced when he had finished conversing with Juanita. "The time has come to leave Wirkmood. Our destination is the Field of Unresolved Spats. Follow me." Needing no mount, Elf Lord strode towards the white wooden gates of Wirkmood, Garnet at his heels. Delores, Yuuma, and Mr. Cuddlesworth rode behind Elf Lord, followed by Juanita and Deanrice.

Though it was only afternoon, the forest was dim, sparsely lit by sunlight piercing small gaps in the foliage above their heads. The trees seemed to whisper as they passed them by.

 _Goodbye,_ the leaves above her head sighed. _And good luck._

Delores's head began to ache as boredom set in. She concentrated on the shifting muscles in Yuuma's strong, corded neck, on the silky sheen of his chestnut coat. She focused on the feeling of him moving underneath her and the rhythmic sound of his hooves hitting soft-packed earth. She was so engrossed in Yuuma that she failed to notice the rider drawing up beside her.

"Hey, dudes," a drawling female voice sounded. Delores looked to her left, alarm tugging her heart up into her throat. Juanita rode beside her atop her white stallion. The horse gave Yuuma a nod of respect. "How are you guys doing?"

"Happy to be on our way," Yuuma replied politely.

Delores nodded in agreement, her mouth dry and unable to procure a coherent thought. Delores had not yet personally spoken to Juanita, who was was tall and intimidating and made her head feel fuzzy. It was similar to the way Tom used to make her feel, back when even a simple conversation with him was eons out of reach.

"What brings you?" Yuuma asked.

"I tired of Deanrice's company," Juanita replied with an airy sigh. "And I wanted to get to know you two better."

Delores floundered for her voice. "W-we're flattered… milady?"

"Ha!" Juanita grinned. Her hair shimmered in the scattered sunlight. "You don't need to call me that. Juanita works just fine."

"Titles aren't always worth the time they take to say," Yuuma said, able to relate. Juanita wholeheartedly agreed.

Delores said nothing. She deigned to fade into the background of Juanita and Yuuma's conversation, giving her cat some much-needed attention while she waited for an opening to speak. It never arrived, so instead she admired the rich, verdant green shade of the leaves. The forest was beautiful during the day. Her professors had always warned her of the dangers of the Forbidden Forest, but they never said anything about the wonders that lay just within reach.

 _Beautiful, but dangerous all the same,_ she thought, thinking back to the clearing with the Magical Calzone. Yuuma had said that werewolves lived in the forest. She had heard them surely enough as he brought her safely to Thessaly Ranch. Their mournful howls had turned her blood to ice and her bones to cold stone.

What would she find on the other side of the Calzone? What was Tom doing right now? Was he even still alive? Her heart thundered in her chest, fighting to break free of her ribcage. Her chest felt too tight, all of the sudden, as if a vine from a great tree had stretched out and squeezed all the air out of her lungs. It hurt to breathe.

"Are you okay?" The clipped voice of Juanita pierced the miasma of anxiety surrounding her, drawing her back to the present.

Delores exhaled shakily and faked a smile. "Yeah. Just worried about Tom." She pet Mr. Cuddlesworth. The softness of his white fur and the repetitive petting motion grounded her.

"He must be special to you, then," Juanita's voice was halting, unsure. "You didn't say, but when you talked about him last night…"

Delores's stomach churned. She didn't want to think about Tom. "He is. I just want to get him back. You understand, right?"

The lady of Summerstand smiled wryly. "Not really. I don't understand. I've never had a boyfriend or anything like that; not someone I care about like you seem to care about Tom. Besides for my parents and siblings, I mean."

Delores knew better than to ask where Deanrice fit into the equation.

Juanita continued. "I've accepted that I'll one day marry for my House, in order to secure a strong political alliance with a neighbour."

Delores found it easier to talk about someone else's love life than her own. "That's kind of sad, though, don't you think?"

"Maybe." Juanita shrugged. "I never really gave it much thought. I'll always be the heir to my father's position. No one can take that away from me, not even a husband or wife. I will always be Juanita of House Steam, and my honour belongs to me and me alone."

A memory stirred in the back of Delores's mind. She mentally nudged it to the forefront of her brain. All of this talk of Houses and honour reminded her of her conversation with Deanrice that morning. What exactly had she said to him right before he accidentally cut himself and ran off? She had asked him what his House's symbol was. Juanita would know. "What's House Gary's symbol?"

Juanita scoffed. "Nothing. There is no House Gary."

Delores opened her mouth to respond when an unexpected gust of cold wind buffeted her body. The trees grew sparser and sparser until they entered a familiar clearing. The sky was a cool shade of blue-grey and snowflakes rode the back of the wind. Wisps of grey clouds circled overhead. Delores removed her backpack and extracted her new coat. Her teeth were well and truly chattering by the time she buttoned up her coat, Mr. Cuddlesworth tucked safely inside. His head poked out from the neckhole, her chin resting gently on his furry forehead.

Delores looked at Juanita. She wore only a t-shirt, boardshorts, and Crocs. She must have been freezing, but her level expression did nothing to reveal the discomfort she must have felt.

"We're here," said Garnet. She stood beside Elf Lord, her pink skin glittering like gemstones. Lifting her sunglasses, she surveyed the clearing. "The Calzone is over there."

The fellowship followed Garnet and Elf Lord to the centre of the clearing. The seer passed her right hand over a seemingly empty patch of snow. Before their eyes, the air in front of them seemed to ripple like a translucent curtain. It resembled the haze that often hung over asphalt in hot weather.

Snow crunched underfoot as Elf Lord approached the hidden Calzone. His footsteps were like individual bolts of thunder, sinking five inches into the earth with every step he took. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a very small red and white object. Delores squinted to see it, but before she could catch a proper glimpse, the object, whatever it was, was already journeying down his gullet. His chalky skin began to glow softly, his muscles straining.

A loud _snap!_ met her ears. Elf Lord whirled around like lightning. His bulging red eyes were wide with alarm. "We are not alone," he warned.

The mass of trees and bushes surrounding the snowy clearing shifted and rustled. Branches creaked. Snow crunched. Something was in the forest. A lot of somethings.

Garnet stood next to Elf Lord and raised her fists. Under Delores, Yuuma shifted. The centaur sniffed the air, his delicately pointed anime-man nose probing the wind.

"Werewolves," he said sharply as the sound of a lone howl split the still air. Others joined in the dreadful symphony until the entire forest seemed to echo with the howls of a thousand werewolves, hungry for blood.

Delores's blood ran cold with fear. She heard a whimper, and realized detachedly that the sound came from herself.

"It'll be all right," said Yuuma comfortingly. "I'll protect you." He pawed at the snow, snorting in an unattractive, horse-like manner.

"Thanks," Delores murmured. Her shaking hands fumbled for her wand. She had never been particularly skilled at offensive spellcasting.

The bushes parted. Huge, furry shapes loped out of the shadow of the trees. They wore torn jean shorts and dirty white shirts with ripped sleeves. They surrounded the fellowship, licking their black lips, teeth flashing menacingly.

Delores inhaled sharply. _Confringo,_ she recited mentally in a desperate attempt to remember _any_ useful spells. _Locomotor Mortis. Expelliarmus - no, that won't do any good. Werewolves don't have wands._

"I demand to speak to your leader!" Elf Lord bellowed. His voice set the trees trembling and melted the snow at his feet as the ice molecules scattered out of pure, unadulterated fear.

"I am the leader here." A massive werewolf with black-brown fur stepped forward. His claws and teeth glinted menacingly. His voice was gruff as he spoke the common tongue. "I am the alpha of the Black Pack. My name is Black Jacob," he growled. His eyes, sharp chips of amber, surveyed the group. "Which one of you is Delores Umbridge?"

A jolt of fear arced up Delores's spine. Her skin crawled. _Why me?_

Her heart throbbed loudly in her ears. No one said a word for what felt like an eternity.

Then, steel rang as Juanita drew her sword, edged with pale fire against the wintry sky. "I am," the lady of Summerstand said coldly. "What do you want with me and my friends?"

Black Jacob tilted his head to one side. His face was that of a wolf, but there was human amusement in his burning eyes. "I don't believe you. Who is the real Delores Umbridge?"

A sickening silence ensued. Nausea gripped Delores's gut as the werewolves began to converge on her and her friends.

"Oh well," Black Jacob growled, licking his lips as he drew ever closer. "It won't matter soon enough. Now, step away from the Calzone."


End file.
